50 moments, 50 memories, 50 loves
by DiePi
Summary: #025-Imprint, #023-Grin, #005-Power, #017-Relax, #008-Smile. By then, he had been watching the prodigy closely for some days and was only a step shy of concluding that Toushiro was in fact narcoleptic. Rating PG. IchiHitsu.
1. 002Grave:Death, a new beginning

**Title**: Death, a new beginning  
**Series**: 50scenes challenge #002-Grave  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: General/Romance  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Kurosaki Ichigo visits his own grave, accompanied by Hitsugaya Toshiro and the two have a conversation.  
**Spoilers**: None, or at least I think.  
**Warning**: None

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

This is purely conversation-based fic, starting with Ichigo. I guess it doesn't have much connection with grave except that they are talking in front of one but I hope it still counts as appropriate.

* * *

**Death, a new beginning by HeukYa**

* * *

"How… odd."

"You're _so_ eloquent in front of your own grave."

"I can't help it if it feels strange to be looking at my own name on that slab."

"Imagine what it's like for your family."

"True. They weren't quite sure how to react when they saw me in shihakushou just next to my dead body. My funeral was pretty funny, though."

"Ahou. It came near to disaster and it would have become one if I hadn't bashed you over your head and stopped you from pulling stupid faces at your family and friends. Quincy looked ready to shoot about 10,000 arrows up your ass. You were lucky that Inoue Orihime had his hands held down the whole time."

"It was bloody hilarious though, the looks on their faces. Was well worth it."

"So you saying you had fun on your funeral?"

"Kinda. I guess. What's the point getting all sad when I'm not really dead?"

"You are."

"You know what I mean."

"Ahou. You are physically dead for real."

"Fine, I'm the biggest idiot. What were _you_ like, then?"

"…Me?"

"Yeah. Your death. Your funeral. Whatever."

"Kurosaki, not everyone was already a shinigami before their death."

"So?"

"I don't know what on earth made me go with you here when you are such an idiot."

"'Cuz you love me and you were worried that your thick-headed boyfriend would get all upset?"

"Shut up."

"Love you too."

"I said, shut up."

"So you saying you don't remember?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to look for it?"

"Huh?"

"You know. Your grave. The one that would have Hitsugaya Toshiro written on it."

"…No."

"Why?"

"I don't need to."

"Don't you wanna know? Where you belonged to?"

"It's not going to change anything."

"Still. Don't you want to know where you come from?"

"I come from Rukongai. My life restarted from that point. Unlike you, ours is a brand new, clear cut start."

"…That's kinda sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm guessing you died pretty young, maybe 10, 12 years old? You must have had a family that loved you, somewhere in this world. And yours friends that had to cope with a violent brat. Ouch! That's exactly what I mean."

"Past life is not something we linger on nor should we, and Kurosaki, you're soon going to learn how to do it as well. Things are going to be different from now on even if they have ability to see you."

"Why not? They are my family whether I'm a shinigami or not."

"…This is precisely why sotaichou is making you fukutaichou even though there are three divisions lacking taichous. Kurosaki, if you heard something happened in Karakura, what are you going to do?"

"Check on my family? Is that a crime?"

"How, you're just going to jump through Senkaimon, leaving behind your division? Once you become familiar enough with Gotei 13's system, you're going to have a division to lead yourself. And that should be your priority, not your family in the real world."

"Are you telling me to just forget about my family? Because I'm not doing that."

"No, idiot. You're a special case so it can't be helped but you'll have to learn the ways of a shinigami; a full-fledged one, not a substitute one."

"…I just realised I won't be a substitute anymore. Does that mean I have to learn kidou as well?! Man, I'm gonna suck at it!"

"…What am I going to do with you, you dimwit…"

"Give me a nice kiss?"

"How the hell does your mind just jump from one thing to another in a flash like that, never mind the irrelevance?!"

"Because it's you."

"Bakayaro."

"…I can't just dump my family, you know."

"And I said that's not the case. It probably doesn't make much sense right now but you'll soon understand. I'll just say this. Right now, you might see your position as 'only' a fukutaichou but the position holds a lot of responsibility. Contrary to the popular belief, it's something even Matsumoto takes quite seriously. It only amounts when you become a taichou. Your whole division is on you; your action, your decision could be what decides the life and death of your subordinates."

"I know that but…"

"No, you don't. Or at least, you don't know the true weight of it. So far, all you had to do was follow your heart, going all out without a single thought, simply to save your friends and family. Your actions rarely had any grave consequences afterwards except the return of your friends, some major healing, and a few lies you had to present to your school. But your subordinates are not Abarai or Kuchiki, and there will certainly be more than just four or five. With hundreds under your command, you need to trust them but not overestimate their abilities, learn to lead the mass."

"Now you're giving me a headache. Maybe a bit sick as well."

"Every taichou has own method of leading a division, own view on battles and subordinates. Ukitake goes by battles to protect pride and battles to protect life. Zaraki's is even simpler, life or death. And in near future, you'll find your own."

"I'm surprised. You sound very sure."

"That's because I am."

"…You really believe I'd do well in the end, don't you?"

"Shouldn't I? You're possibly the biggest blockhead I've been most unfortunate to come across but save the uncontrollable impulsiveness and unbelievable stupidity, which you _will_ keep in check from now on and I'll make sure you do, you possess all the qualities for a taichou."

"…Despite all the insults, that means a lot, Toshiro, especially coming from you."

"I'm only stating what I see. But then I do feel a little sorry for whatever division that's going to fall under your hands. They'll be seeing the doom for a while one way or the other."

"And you've just crushed that little nice, warm feeling inside."

"Aren't I glad to hear that."

"Ah, I know how much you love me."

"Shut up."

"…Let's go."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Back to Soul Society. I guess you're right in that things will be different from now on. It's about time that I face it and find out exactly what has changed how."

"…Kurosaki."

"Hmm?"

"…It may not be right now but you will make a good taichou."

"…With you trusting me like that, how can I fail? I'll do you proud, my yuki hime."


	2. 006Glory:Just another day

**Title**: Just another day  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#006-Glory)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: General/Romance  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It was as usual as a day could get, really, with absolutely nothing extraordinary.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Fluff. Crap writing.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I only hope it counts as a scene;; I'm not sure if I've managed to transfer the whole atmosphere as well as I wanted to… I had once written a FMA RoyxEd fic on a similar idea years ago in my mother language and I don't think it came out as nice as FMA version did…T.T Enjoy and reviews are loved!

* * *

**Just another day by HeukYa**

* * *

It was as usual as a day could get, really, with absolutely nothing extraordinary.

The sun shone blindingly yet the rays of radiance were not bleak as to pain the eyes that arched into content semi-circles as they enjoyed the serene pale blue canvas, generously splattered with pure white cotton candies. Fresh green coloured the healthy dark brown earth that was melting into new vitality from months long ice-cold breaths of winter goddess. Random, idle chitchats gently slid in to the music of winds dancing with the young leaves and the birds twittering, all following its own rhythm and beat yet oddly falling into one enjoyable melody. The crystal clear water, still in the ponds and gracefully flowing through streams, sparkled in twinkles under the unhindered glow as if diamonds were embedded.

Life was, literally, in its glory in every element that it was made of, both in the real world and in Soul Society.

It was not anything special, if you thought about it. The world was, after all, in a never-ending cycle of four seasons. Yes, all in all, it really was an ordinary day; almost too blend, peace dousing the jubilant atmosphere and letting the souls soak in the return of the young vivacity.

And it was on such a day that one captain of Gotei 13 found himself stepping through Senkaimon into the real world, slightly narrowing his emerald eyes at the softly caressing tendrils of joyous brilliance assaulting the irises that had been widened in the stagnant darkness of dangai.

And surprise, surprise, the said captain was actually not a man on a mission. It sounded odd even to himself that the human realm was opened to him at this moment with no Hollows to dispatch nor any anomalies requiring in-depth investigation. In fact, all that waited for him was-

"Toshiro!"

The captain watched in silence with mild amusement as the substitute shinigami strode over the little distance between them with a grin bright enough to put the glowing sun to shame. Though far better than himself, the orange-haired teen was not one generous with such blatant display of happiness. But then, who could stay grumpy on a simple, average, yet glorious day like this? Even he had a little tug at the corner of his lips. The quietness from his side was, at least for today, not from the effort of keeping his irritation in check; rather, he was pretty certain he would simply chuckle at just about anything if he opened his mouth at the moment.

Even before coming to a halt, the taller one was already bending down to lightly press his lips against his cheek and the prodigy only rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose a little at the adoring touch. The brown eyes blinked in surprise at the unexpected lack of the protest from the stiff shinigami before breaking into a joyful smile.

"You got some time, right?"

The silky tuft shimmered like fresh, untainted snow in the gleaming beams of light as if dusted with fine fairy powder and bobbed up and down which led to a large hand stretching out, wide open.

"C'mon, I've got somewhere I wanna take you to."

The prodigy only lifted his eyebrow by a mere inch, the faintly amused face speaking on behalf of him that the prickly captain was content today to let the other entertain him with whatever the strawberry had got planned, and the petite hand dropped into the offered one. The ear-to-ear smile was reaching the point of splitting the teen's face in half but then neither of them really cared much about just how idiotically giddy he looked as the smaller one merely scoffed with an exasperated shake of his head.

And in enveloping tranquillity, they walked. They walked past a bunch of kids playing in the alley, uncaring about little beads of sweat starting to form on their foreheads from all the energetic running and innocent laughs. They walked past a couple of high school girls, chattering about their favourite singer's latest concert while texting at mach speed. They walked past a group of mothers with bags of groceries in their hands, chuckling happily about how much food their children were going through every day, the voices nothing but blissful.

None of them saw the two shinigamis brushing past hand in hand, perfectly satisfied with the companionable silence that had settled between them.

It was on top of a small hilltop that the pair finally stopped their relaxed stroll. A large sakura tree stood quite majestically, the tiny, pale pink petals dotting the beautiful scenery elegantly as they waltzed through the calm air. Juvenile grasses, yet to reach their full heights, provided a splash of eye-comforting green, and the gentle sway of the short leaves blew the scent of freshness over to them. Various coloured rooftops competed to outstand each other below the hill, the blues, greys, and reds trying to catch more of that warm sunlight. In a distance, the river that cut through Karakura glistened like mirror reflecting the bright rays.

"This is where you wanted to bring me to?"

There was no disappointment or incredulity in the question; just simple, genuine curiosity. There was a quiet chuckle from the substitute shinigami who had already flopped down underneath the sakura tree before a dull sound of patting the earthy ground reached the captain. The turquoise orbs blinked only once before the owner took his place next to the teen and much to his surprise, the hand that the prodigy had expected to creep around his shoulders -the one he had been ready to slap- gently grasped his hand that laid in the small space between their legs, the fingers interlocking reflexively before he knew.

"Nice view, isn't it?"

"…Mm."

Invisible Sylph darted past them, almost inaudible sounds of bristling branches followed by a shower of delicate sakura petals. There was nothing but relaxing serenity and satisfying contentment surrounding them like a mother lovingly caressing her newborn baby. And when the silence was coyly broken, it was only because the voice was of quiet but elated whispers of his lover that the scowl-prone prodigy let his head roll onto the broad shoulder without a single crease in the cherubic face, eyelids lazily drooping halfway down over the emerald jewels. A small sign of pleasure flitted across the stoic captain's features as the teen tilted his head to comfortably land on his spiked tuft.

"Toshiro."

"Hmm?"

A short moment of silence. A short moment of simply relishing in the warmth radiating from the body next to each other. A short moment of purely enjoying the nature's masterpiece. Then, unrivalled music ringing in his ears-

"…I love you."

A shooting spike in the heat at the crook of neck is followed by-

"…Me, too."

Then, just for the sake of it-

"…Idiot."

-x-

It was as usual as a day could get, really, with absolutely nothing extraordinary.

The sun graced the world in its glory; the pleasant wind delivered the fresh scent of grass. The fields provided the relaxing music, its note monotonous yet so diverse, and in a distance, the calm river glittered like diamond dusts. Perhaps, it was not so much of a fickle imagination that everyone's smile seemed a little brighter than usual, but in all truth, it really was just an ordinary day.

…But then at least for two lovers, it was perhaps a little more than an ordinary day.


	3. 018Lover:Endless love

**Title**: Endless love  
**Series**: 50scenes challenge #018-Lover  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Horror  
**Rating**: T/PG-15  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round. Nor do I own my dream guys, Shinhwa or the song _Endless love.  
_**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Because they are lovers and that means staying together forever, no matter what, no matter how.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Way OOC, insane Ichigo/Hitsugaya OOC in his strength/Character death/Suicide

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

Although I wrote this for 50scenes challenge, I owe up that it is another song-inspired fic. I have stolen some bits of the lyrics for Ichigo's lines from the song _Endless Love_ by Shinhwa that got banned from broadcasting because of what it insinuated. Despite the lovely word of the prompt, I think I have come up with a pretty twisted taking of it. If you want to listen to the song, it's been posted in my LJ under the fic.

* * *

**Endless love by HeukYa**

* * *

"No, you can't."

The teal globes turn as hard as the glacial ice the boy rules over. The white eyebrows merely furrow slightly. _This cannot be possible_, Ichigo frantically thinks to himself, _this is simply not possible_. He slams his hands down on the table with such ferocity that both of them hear the sound of a crunching crack in the wooden furniture but neither takes their eyes off each other, one pair burning with dangerously flaring anger, the other chilled to the core enough to freeze even the hellfire.

"And pray tell, why can I not?"

Oh how he despises, detests, hates that cynical, dry tone. Bringing his face only an inch away from the other one, he hisses between gritted teeth.

"You cannot break this because you cannot. I love you."

"And I'm saying I don't."

The hazelnut orbs have long lost the pure, honest passion and warmth they are known for. The fire that burns the wooden-coloured irises is, more than anything else, dangerous. Distorted and twisted with desperation and rage.

"Hitsugaya Toshiro, don't lie to me. Look into my eyes and try telling me you don't love me."

The white-spiked head inclines just enough for the captain sitting behind the desk to firmly lock his sharp, icy gaze with the violently blazing one.

"I do not love you anymore, Kurosaki Ichigo."

And worse, there is not a single hint of wavering, of a lie, as the dragon that he loved, still loves, spits out the shattering words in the same low voice that used to whisper all the sweet fluff into his ear as they relished in each other. He does not even get to add in a syllable before the boy stands up from his chair with a distinctive air of dismissive annoyance, continuing in the deadpan voice.

"So it's over."

When the captain is just a step away from reaching the door, a voice stops him in his track, not because he wants to spare his time to listen to the anger-fuelled rants from the other but because the trembling in the quiet voice sends a chilling shiver down his spine for some reason and he knows that it has nothing to do with the knife-sharp night wind that has just gusted in the room.

"Hitsugaya Toshiro."

The aura around the orange-haired teen, hunched over the desk, changes and for the first time since his acquaintance with him, Hitsugaya grows wary of Kurosaki Ichigo as he turns halfway, not bothering to reply to the call in which his sharp intuition caught an unspoken but sure threat. The cold silence is broken by Kurosaki again.

"You are my _lover_."

The words are venomously shot at the paper-covered desk, hissed barely above a whisper, but he still hears every single word clearly and scoffs cynically, turning back and stretching his hand out for the door.

"Not anymore."

That is all he gets out of him before a large hand grabs him at the neck from behind in a flash and smacks him hard into the sturdy door, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He is, for all the power he possesses, small, and when the long fingers close around his slender neck, they easily meet the thumb coming round from the other side. Even before he can take in what has just happened, his feet are off the polished floor, frantically kicking about in the air with nothing coming into contact. The side of his face is pressed hard against the door as if the teen is trying to force him through the solid wood and the shocked turquoise eyes widen, failing to hide the fear in them completely, as the grip around his neck increases its pressure.

Ichigo smirks smugly at the quivering emerald jewels and they open up even more because even in the swirling vision through painful choking, they recognise the white bony mask covering half of the teen's face. The voice that follows is, in a way, expected from the appearance yet unexpected from a shinigami as the Hollow and the shinigami speak together in perfect synchronisation.

"It seems for the first time, we actually agree on something."

Hitsugaya does not need to nor can he ask what it is that they have agreed on because his airway is narrowed down to nothing and the earth-crushing reiatsu wildly blazing around him along with overwhelming bloodthirstiness has him paralysed to a point that his shaking arms are rendered useless, unable to even flick his wrist up for kidou, let alone reaching for his zanpaktou.

Then the eerie voice manages to dig into his suffocating mind and he barely hears the words, recognising the feeling of death slowly but surely creeping up from his peripherals.

"If I cannot see you again… If I cannot touch you again…", it -it is certainly not the Kurosaki Ichigo he or anyone else knew- says, only tightening his clench further as the mismatching eyes apathetically watch the life seeping out of the white-haired boy, "…I'll put myself down for long sleep so that my eyes and my lips won't remember you."

Even in the haze of oxygen-deprived lethargy, Hitsugaya knows that what the teen just said does not make sense, not with what he is doing to him. Another choked cough escapes him, taking what little breath his body had had, and scrambling up the last of his energy, he manages to twist enough to see Kurosaki. And he is shocked because the face, both masked and unmasked, is flooded with tears, despite the menacing snicker tugging the lips.

"You want to get away from me? But I'm not letting you go. I'm going to take your soul, Hitsugaya Toshiro. Don't worry, I'm not going to devour it or anything. I'm just going to possess your existence. What, you think I've gone crazy?" A wicked laughter, all too insane, cackles in the air. "You just threw my love away. I'm not afraid of anything now, Toshiro. Don't worry, you won't be all alone. 'Cuz when I wake up years later, you'll be opening those green jewels of yours in my cold, cold embrace."

The flailing ceases. The small body falls limp. The unique frosty reiatsu vanishes into thin air. The snow-crowned head rolls, the teal orbs wide and blank. The mask disappears and Ichigo finally lets go of the slender neck he used to bury his face in and cradles the lifeless body possessively with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Loud, hurried footsteps echo in the corridor outside. Only then, Ichigo realises that the explosion of reiatsu, be it his or his lover's that had been let loose as the captain lost his control, has in fact caused the guards to ring an emergency alarm throughout Seireitei. On the other side of the door, a voice that he does not recognise calls for 'Hitsugaya taichou' and when there is no answer, there comes the banging that makes Ichigo cringe. Then the brown eyes glide across the pallid face of his lover with unbefitting adoration before his hand slides the cool zanpaktou out of its navy blue sheath, already starting to disappear with the death of its master. _No_, Ichigo thinks with a shake of his head, _it's because I now have him; completely_.

And just as the shinigami loses his patience and opens the door, the long blade of Hyourinmaru claims its one last victim, causing hot red blood from the teen's neck splutter all over the said shinigami.

Because Hitsugaya Toshiro and Kurosaki Ichigo are lovers.

And lovers are meant to stay together, forever.

No matter what, no matter how.


	4. 028Gasp:Teaser

**Title**: Teaser  
**Series**: 50scenes challenge #028-Gasp  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: General/Romance  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: A dragon is _not_ to be riled up.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Smut. PWP. Lemon. Sex. Swearing. Mature. Unbetaed. Draft. Not worksafe.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

…Damnit, what do you expect, look at the goddamn prompt!!

* * *

**Teaser by HeukYa**

* * *

"…Get… off, Kurosaki… This… is…"

The laborious words are promptly cut off with an infuriatingly flitting touch running up the inside of the smooth thigh, the milky skin velvety on the teasing fingertips.

"…Forget about it. After all, isn't this just so much more enjoyable than your freaking paperwork?"

The low voice tickling the hypersensitive ear is husky with lust, fluctuating with ragged breathing. The devil's hand barely touches the tip of the strained length and the barest of the breeze causes a set of perfectly lined white teeth come down hard on the plump lip, leading to a muffled moan. And that results in one unhappy and very much horny orange-haired substitute shinigami.

A wet, slick tongue slides across the abused lip that has just been freed and when it reaches the corner, the glistening trail continues to sluggishly crawl across the flustered cheek, tasting the divine sweetness of pure snow, until it reaches the round earlobe.

A startled, heated gasp echoes around the otherwise silent administration office. The long fluorescent light bulb blinds what little the hazy, half-lidded teal orbs can see. The bright, bleak rays are harsh and leave nothing to cower in shadow that has swallowed the rest of Seireitei. Especially not the topless substitute shinigami bent over the messed-up captain writhing on the paper-scattered desk.

The pristine haori is nothing more than a crinkled mess underneath the squirming shinigami. The once securely wrapped shihakushou is an unrecognisable heap on the polished floor and only the top loosely hangs off the narrow shoulders already bearing the evidence of the teen's uncontrollable desire. The snow-tufted head inclines back and a small Adam's apple bobs up and down in the slender neck from a desperate gulp of air.

The limbs, the peripherals, they all move on their own accord. Or maybe not quite all. One small hand manages to apply hard enough pressure on the broad chest away from the desk and the hazelnut globes, darkened almost to black with flaring lust, lift up to meet the mystified turquoise ones.

"Kuro… saki… This is my offi…"

The wicked, sinful tongue is back and its new victim is the pert nub on the flawless chest. A sharp intake of air is followed by a quiet hiss and neither even blinks as the quivering emerald jewels stare down at the impish chocolate ones. The dainty hand that had given its best at keeping the sacred workplace clear of the feral rawness, the last that had remained under the icy captain's control, is finally freed from conscience and shoots up to the unkempt orange mane, roughly gripping the short tendrils. The same coloured eyebrows lift a little but a satisfied groan tingles the now thoroughly licked and wet flesh and the sea-green eyes give up the losing fight, fluttering shut even if only for a split second.

"…Toshiro…"

The reply is more of a shuddering gasp as the callused hand dances along the hard member and the cotton-light contact is simply not enough. The roaring heat burning through the small body is almost visible in its rawest passion when the shimmering teal orbs glare at the smirking teenager.

"Kurosaki…"

"Enough of 'Kurosaki', yuki hime."

And promptly, there is a rough friction on the weeping length as the hakama-clad hip grinds forward, eliciting a throaty moan from the frigid shinigami. The large hand is now gliding down the lithe leg until it reaches the slim ankle and when the white eyebrow arches up at the gentle lift, the substitute shinigami only smirks.

"You are absolutely beautiful, Hitsugaya Toshiro."

The wooden-coloured irises have already hidden behind the eyelids so they miss the deep, dark crimson flooding the baby cheeks, and the shade only intensifies as a pair of hot, searing lips land just above the held ankle in a chaste kiss.

And that is only the beginning. An inch is all the teen keeps between his questing lips and the icy drug that he continually returns for more and more and each time, a wave of shudder wrecks the lithe body, and each trembling brings the lips closer to what they so deftly navigate around, causing the petite hand in the roughed-up tuft clench further in frustration. The flat stomach just below the navel receives a visit from the teasing flesh and the narrow hip almost jerks up, except that there is a hand on it pressing down.

Puffs of breaths from above are sometimes infused with irritated groans or pleasure-filled gasps. And for the horny teenager, it is the most seductive, lustful music he has ever heard. Sometimes, one single breathy gasp from the cold shinigami is all that is needed to send him spiralling down the oblivion.

Then the sensual melody is ruined by a scratchy sound of another paper getting mercilessly crumpled in a dainty hand and before the substitute shinigami can acknowledge the abrupt rise of his teal-eyed lover, the back of his head is punished with a ruthless crash on the unforgiving floor. A loud grunt tears through the dry throat then a startled gasp follows it.

The table has been turned.

The hazelnut globes get their first taste of the bleak man-made light showering down directly and are about to shut down in a scowl when a shadow looms over, relieving them from the overdoes of stimulus. However what they see is not much better.

The wide-opened black top is clinging around the elbows of the lean arms and the small hands are nearly invisible behind the wide sleeves that had unavoidably slid down. There is a direct skin-to-skin contact on the toned stomach and the teen mentally registers that his hakama needs to go, and soon at that.

One of the black-covered hand lands square on the wood planks right next to the substitute shinigami's face and suddenly, the captain's flushed smirk is an inch away from it. An aggravated and vengeful gleam stains the turquoise orbs with cerulean hue and the luscious lips whispers softly and sultrily.

"That's the way you want to play? Fine."

A dragon is _not_ to be riled up.

The size of the chocolate globes rivals the full moon as two fingers, just in sight under the folded sleeve, _slides_ into what the teen knows to be a very hot, wet and scrumptious place. This time, it is the taller one who unconsciously abuses his lower lip as a pink tongue pokes out of the finger-filled mouth and swirls around the digits that leave the luscious petals with a popping sound.

Gasp does not score high on the substitute shinigami's action list. A hiss, not unlike a snake threatening an intruder, is the reaction to the cool, moist fingers landing on the broad chest then lazily skating down the burning skin. It is cold on hot. It is hot on cold.

Gasp, however, does exist in the substitute shinigami's dictionary and there is nothing that can stop it when the captain wiggles down the torso, the weight deliciously crushing down the painfully hardened length.

"Toshiro…"

The white cloth slides out of its ribbon easily enough and the firmly built body tenses for a moment as the delicate fingers purposefully play around the little tent of the hakama. However, much to the teen's chagrin and disappointment, the black garment stays in its place. Instead, what moves is the undeniable heat radiating from the frosty captain, leaving him for a brief moment before plopping down on his stomach not so lightly.

"Mmph! Tosh…"

And the rest is lost along with the world around them because there is another little squirm at his groin and even through the cotton barrier, the substitute shinigami knows full well of their position, of his position.

His hakama _should_ have gone. It is a pure torture.

A satisfied smirk pulls the thinned lips up on the young, beautiful face, and there is another teasing touch through the fabric that snaps the fired teen into action. Two large hands grip the lean thighs resting on either side as a feral groan is issued from the ground. The captain is sitting right on top of the waistline of the clothes. He now holds the key to the scorching friction, the rapid beating of their hearts, and the supernova. And it does not look like the teen will be graced with the dragon's generosity anytime soon.

As said before, a dragon is not to be riled up.

The scrumptious petals dive down onto those that had seared the lithe figure a moment ago and amidst the violent crash, two slick muscles meet and entwine themselves around each other, fully intending to get a good, proper taste. The fingers, now dried from the little visit to the place that the teen was delving into, creep down the toned chest and a little shift down below instantly leads to a miss in a beat from the taller one in their soundless battle.

"…Kurosaki Ichigo, do you want this?"

"You gotta ask?"

"You do not tease me again. Ever."

"Fuck, whatever you want, yuki hime."

The captain shakes his head, having enough of self-control to sanely frown a little at the crazed chocolate orbs. The blockhead is not even going to remember what he has just said even before the end of this.

However, there is no more talking, for the substitute shinigami has already ignited an overwhelming fire, an uncontrollable need and want, right in the middle of the glacial fortress. The weight moves up just enough to free the black garment but even before the hands can hastily reach for it, the small shinigami is back on move, this time, so excruciatingly slowly sliding down while pushing the hakama down as well.

And finally, finally, the contact that they have both been craving so much yet not quite the one they _really_ want is there and two matching gasps dissipate into the sultry air.

"Bloody hell, Toshiro. _Now_."

The point is emphasised with a rocking that almost topples the captain over. The teen regrets his brash order soon enough because the irritated glare from the glistening turquoise globes signals another wait before he can finally plunge into that delicious heat.

Which is just realistically not possible. So the table is turned again with a startled gasp as the long fingers wrap themselves around the leaking length of the shivering captain. A coarse thumb taps the head, each touch sapping what little energy the black-clad arms have. Another unconscious jerk forward has the teen moaning longingly because the tip of his own member touches that puckered ring it so desperately needs to plunge into.

"Toshiro… Please…?"

"…Damnit, just do it!"

Though both loves to annoy and mock and rile each other up, neither are actually good at coping with the consequences and the substitute shinigami understands the pressing needs, the burning lust in the frustrated growl only too well.

The captain is bent over, the arms at the sides of the teen's head, and the black top is spread over them like a bat's wings, shading them from the indiscriminating light. The large hands tightly hold on to the slender waist and then suddenly, there is simply nothing but the eruption of sweet, luscious pain, for one, from the rough intrusion, and for the other, from the vice-like grip that feels like crushing him. And what little sanity that has remained so far vanishes over the horizon and the world around them shrinks into nothing.

There are only the lust-filled moans, pleasure-riddled gasps, searing frictions, waves of stinging electricity, and the short nails digging into each other's sweat-slicked skin.

Thick, viscous magma is coiling up with every fill and both of them are clearly aware that this is going to be one hell of exploding climax and the anticipation brings them to slam into each other faster and deeper than before.

The raw screams and feral growls have long turned into sultry whimpers. All the senses have gone into overdrive and the continuous supply of unbearably delicious stimulus is now enough to be labelled as pain but the moment of the supernova inches closer to them with every second. The lips clash again, the tongues swirl, the arms tighten around each other enough for them to feel the frantically thumping hearts through the pressed chests, and for the last time, the captain is driven harshly down as the teen slams up and that one final stroke on the sweet bundle of nerves has the teal orbs rolling as hot, sticky substance fills what little void there was between their stomachs but neither has the mind to notice it because the scorching muscles clamping down on him has sent the substitute shinigami over the edge and with an earthquake-like shudder, he is spilling himself in the incredibly tight hole of his lover.

For a while, nothing is heard in the office save the too shallow panting and a few groans at the pounding in their heads because there is too much blood gushing through the veins at a rate that is too fast to be anything healthy. It is after a long time that they can even open their glazed eyes and look at each other's sated faces, only to scoff.

"And I thought I could finally give you something else to think about when you are at the desk."

"Shut up, idiot."

"I'm not giving up on it."

"It's not happening."

"Argue later. Sleep now."

"On the floor?"

A snort is the reply to the fatigue-laden words and the tone is nothing less than smug.

"We just had sex in your office. There's nothing we can't do anywhere."

-x-

**Omake**

There is a surprised gasp at the door at an ungodly hour, followed by a little 'hic', sounding very much alcohol-induced. The suspicion seems to be on the right notion, given the way the pale silver eyes are more than just unfocused but they are doing well in not straying from the heap on the floor.

"…That's one damn sexy picture." She murmurs in slurred words because it really is. The white-haired captain is lying on top of the half-naked substitute shinigami, their waist-below covered by the shrugged-off top of the shihakushou belonging to the smaller one. That leaves the narrow shoulders plainly exposed to the whole world for them to see the small red and purple bruises on the porcelain skin.

Before bending down to grab the stash of sake from the bottom drawer, the vice-captain gasps again because there is one very wrinkled haori abandoned on the desktop that is looking like a trash bin than anything else with all the scattered papers, more than half of them crumpled beyond recognition for any submission to the first division.

Enjoying the cool, smooth feeling of the china bottle in her hand, the busty shinigami zigzags out of the office, casting one last glance at the mingled couple, then clumsily swings the sign on the door around. Looking at the unbefitting 'Closed' sign that she had snagged from the real world and had never had to use until now, she giggles, "Hot! Hot! Office sex, hot!".

Next time, she is so hosting the party just outside of the administration office. After all, that is where the division garden is conveniently placed.


	5. 029Benevolence:Tsugi no touji

**Title**: Tsugi no touji (Next winter solstice)  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#029-Benevolence)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Winter was never coming back for him.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Character death

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

Tsugi no touji means the next winter solstice. And for those who don't know, the first kanji for Toushirou's name is 冬 which means winter. I got the title from Tsuki-no-Kurogake's LJ username XD

* * *

**Tsugi no touji by HeukYa**

* * *

Usually, in this kind of scene in films and dramas, he was pretty sure that nothing but silence existed for the stunned nakamas that had arrived too late, even air not daring to shift in the paralysed doom.

How wrong it was.

He had never realised just how loud those tabi-clad feet could sound against the polished wooden floor. Now, they shook and thundered his ears as blurs of blacks ran past and around him.

He had never realised just how piercing Unohana's quiet sigh could be even in the thickest of shouts and calls. Now, it cut through his heart sharper than anything that had ever touched him in his whole life.

He had never realised just how irritating those pained groans and remorseful sniffs could be even though nothing else can be expected from the relief station filled with injured and half-comatose shinigamis. Now, his fingers curled into tight fists and his knuckles lost all blood as he gritted his teeth because those groans and those sniffs, it meant the issuers were _alive_.

Unlike the one that laid in front of him.

Unlike the one clad in torn and bloodied shihakushou.

Unlike the one that did not moan in suffering or cough bloods.

Unlike the one that did not breathe.

Various pitched voices were still packing the urgent atmosphere. Various levels of reiatsus raked against his freely exuding one as the medics pressed into the wounds with the best of their energies everywhere but in front of him.

Here, there was certainly no silence for the grieved to indulge in.

The wide-open brown orbs flitted up for the briefest of moments to the busty woman completely barricaded by a bunch of frantic shinigamis, transparent rubber-gloved hands flying around above her. The pale silvery eyes had been about to lose their focus but once the unkempt orange mob entered her view, she had managed to grip his sleeve and utter a few broken words, her usually beautiful face horrifyingly wrecked with sweat, blood, and streaming tears.

'…_Sorry, Ichi… go… Taichou… tr… protect… subor… dinat… es… I… too late…'_

The fickle words had been soon lost in the chaos, the croaked voice ruined with gasping chokes, and medics had instantly blocked the unconscious, wrecked form of the vice-captain out of his view, but he had got it.

A hand that had been frozen at his side slid through the hectic air slower than a feather falling through it until the tips of the long fingers touched the fine sheet of sands mingled with blood covering what he knew to be so soft, so smooth, so sweet. For a few seconds, he did not dare even to twitch his fingers, the coarse sensation too foreign for him to register the fact that he really was touching the one in front of him.

-x-

'_Three days, right?'_

'_Yes, baka. You've been asking that every minute!'_

'_I'm just pissed we've got to go to different places! For three days!'_

'_Kurosaki, stop being a whining blockhead and just come back in time. God knows what kind of senseless stunt you are going to pull again.'_

'_Give me some credit, Toshiro.'_

'_Right, and the day I do that will be the day you call me Hitsugaya taichou.'_

'_Damn. Well, make sure you come back in time too. I don't need your tendo brilliance acting up at the last minute. Don't make me wait.'_

'_Idiot. I'll be back long before you do, no thanks to your stupidity.'_

'_Wanna bet? How about, if I win, I get to do whatever I like with you for 24 hours? If you win, I'll do whatever you say for 24 hours.'_

'_You'll never win.'_

'_Are we on?'_

_Snicker. _

'_Fine.'_

-x-

A thumb pressed against the dirtied cheek and glided across it, clearing a path through the crimson-specked sands. What met the fingers that trailed after it was ice cold and stiff, making him unintentionally flinch at the initial touch, but soon, the familiar feelings that had been buried underneath the roughness tingled and invited him again. It always used to remind him of milk-coloured, top-quality satin; it still did, even in its frostiness.

After what felt like an eternity, he carefully cupped the rigid cheek, the temperature far lower than usual on his callused palm.

"Toushirou… You lost the bet."

Quietly, silently whispered words did not stand any chance in the midst of deafening commotion. Did they at least reach the still boy in front of him?

"My name… it should have been given to you, maybe… You never knew anything other than protecting your people even if you didn't show it."

It was almost automatic that his thumb headed for the pale lips and it had been already too late when the touch relayed the harrowingly rigid iciness he had never tasted in those petals before.

"You are winter, Toushirou… Winter never leaves us forever… It always comes back…"

It was most likely to be a fickle figment of his imagination that the snow-topped head turned a little towards him in his hand. After all, the shinigami was-

"You are not supposed to leave us forever… leave _me_ forever… You were supposed to always come back…"

Something clear plummeted through the air onto the back of the minutely trembling hand and he blinked with a startle, the hazel eyes leaving the other's firmly closed eyelids that now hid the enchanting emerald jewels from the world for eternity. When he recognised what it was, the other hand that had been idle at his side moved up and cautiously touched his face as if it was something foreign. He blinked again when wetness soaked his fingertips; he had not realised that tears had long escaped their wells. The ends of his digits glistened in the bright light and for a while, he merely stood there, one hand resting on the unmoving boy's face, the other hovering in midair for his blank inspection.

Someone screamed for Kotetsu from the other side of the bustling room while another nameless face brushed past him, their shoulders colliding. He did not turn around. The mumbled apology was hurried and only half-hearted at the most. It did not matter.

"Kurosaki-san."

A gentle, sympathetic voice alerted him of the braided healer's presence on the other side of the bed he stood next to. He did not yet dare to look at her eyes. The tear-wet hand dropped limp back to his side.

"…We have to move Hitsugaya taichou out of here to another room."

"…I see."

Yet, despite the response, he did not move.

"…Kurosaki-san."

"…Unohana-san."

"Yes..?"

"…'Ichigo'… is the protector."

He finally tore his glassy eyes away from the shinigami that no other word except 'dead' fittingly described. Again, he was not aware that his face had taken up on a fragile smile that made the healer furrow her eyebrows in sadness.

"…But I've failed."

"Kurosaki-san, it's not-"

"Winter… is never coming back, is it?"

Silence was the reply. That was fine, too. He knew the answer.

No length of reckonable waiting was going to give him the promised 24 hours of bliss.

Winter was never coming back for him.


	6. 036Saviour:A silent plead

**Title**: A silent plead, unheard but granted  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#036-Saviour)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Save me, save me before it's too late and only you can do it.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Vague concept. OOC Hitsugaya?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I don't know what I actually wanted to write in this. It's not too far from how I felt at the time of writing this. So a very bright, sunny spring day has led to this, an impulsive writing out of whim. Blame the weather. One of my worse works, I reckon…

* * *

**A silent plead, unheard but granted by HeukYa**

* * *

The sun is bright. It illuminates every corners and crooks of the terracota-topped maze that is Seireitei. The heat is more than what can be passed as mere cosy warmth but not enough to be labelled as smouldering heat. Cloggy moisture attempt to gather in the calm, docile atmosphere but a cool, refreshing breeze dances through and drives them away. A few dollops of pure white clouds decorate the clear, pale blue sky. It is one perfect spring day that the frigid chillness has receded without a hint, the fresh scent of young grass tickling the nose.

The soothing tendrils of glistening radiance gently seep into the room and adoringly caress his cheeks, his hunched shoulders and his hands. He is only just barley stopping himself from cringing at the loving strokes. It makes him want to shrink away into a shadowed corner that even the nature would simply leave him alone, to somewhere that no one would know and no one would discover. The blinding, warm rays of light are nothing but malicious weights excruciatingly slowly and dully crushing his frozen heart.

The light, content chitchats and raucous, spirited voices drift across the breezy spring air that carries the essence of vitality. Some laugh loudly while the other splutters. Apparently there has just been a good joke at someone's high expense. The utterances are so full of life, just like they should, especially at this time of the year where all the livings make another new return at their allotments of existence in this world. Soon, the wind will play the bristly music with the shyly protruding buds on the healthy, brown branches of the rejuvenated trees. The birds will be back to complete the coy yet vivacious orchestra.

It makes him wince.

The air is so tranquil and serene. It seems no threats of any kinds had ever existed since the birth of this place that he calls his home. There is no reason not to enjoy the rare peace but the agonisingly slow crushing of his heart foolishly rejects the relaxing pleasure. There are words that he knows should not be spoken hanging too precariously at the tip of his tongue.

With an unnoticeable clench of his teeth, he grips the brush hard. But the moment his eyes fall on the first word, they are slipping out of him even before he realises.

"…So tired of everything… living…"

A little shift from the couch has him startling like a fearful rabbit in a trap that has just heard the hunter's first footstep and the stoic face twists into a storm of disgust, anguish, and desperate yet faint, screechy yet soundless screams of wish for rescue, to crawl and claw his way out of the coal-black abyss that keeps pulling him into it with its thick, muddy talons. The head instantly drops low to hide itself from the world at large. Things, almost too many, have been growing too heavy but he has always dealt with them. He can, he should, and-

_I must_, he tells himself, and somewhere at the back of his mind, he sees himself derisively but pitifully snorting at the two words.

"…Taichou, did you just say something?"

The slurred words are full of sweet sleep yet so full of joyous perkiness at the same time and he does not let himself think how jarring it is because it is not her fault that the life is, at the moment, nothing but lacerating pain for him, every second stamping its moment with angry rips at his weary soul. He is not so impertinent as to disregard the blatant facts as such in a gust of his dismal emotions that he is presently facing in his usual stoicism just barely.

Hence, he simply replies curtly. But how he wishes he is simply ignorant of all.

"…No."

He knows -and once more, how he wishes he was simply ignorant of all but he is not- how atypical it is for his irritated reprimands not to follow but he cannot bring himself to it because one word is all he can manage to sound what he should sound like. The tormented soul, through his blizzard-storming mind, urgently, tearfully, whispers and screams for an outstretched hand because this has become nothing but a losing fight but he simply tightens his clutch at the writing tool as if it is the only sane barrier, the last lifeline for him and wills himself to play deaf to it because he will not allow himself fall any further. He _cannot_ let himself fall any further. Even if it kills him. Not when he is what he is. And his soul continues to cry out.

_Save me, save me, save me, save me before it's too late. _

He will not hope because a salvation will not come, not for him.

Then suddenly, the door is opening with a crude bang and with an uncharacteristic flinch that he mentally curses at, he slowly, slowly looks up, counting ten in his mind with a deep breathing punctuating each number so that he can steel himself and confront the life that is draining him of verve and gleefully tearing him apart with its dazzling liveliness.

One look for a second at each other is all that is needed before the new arrival strides across the office with fraught contorting his features and pulls him into an overwhelming embrace that turns him deaf, blind and mute to the surroundings, the world, the life save the one that is almost painfully gripping him as if trying to contain the last wisp of heat in a frozen lake. He feels his death-grip on the brush starting to loosen as if his energy is forcibly being sapped away by poison. The voice above him is muffled by the tight cocooning warmth, faintly trembling with calm urgency and rippling anxiety.

"Rangiku-san, please give us a minute."

"…O…Okay…"

The sound of the door sliding to close again is only vaguely registered and a large hand chastely sliding down his taut back elicits an involuntary pained groan finally let free from the small shinigami who will perhaps never learn how to ask for one, single pull to free him from the suffocating ice that sometimes threatens to encase him and a minute, suppressed shudder follows the tiny sound, vibrating the lithe body.

"I'm here. I'm here, Toshiro. I promised you, didn't I? I'll always know and I'll always come to save you. I'm here, Toshiro."

And with the desperately but evenly whispered words warming the air, he closes his eyes and manages to bring his slack hand to the broad chest that the strong arm securely wound around him is helping to bury his face into. The low, firm voice, the pulsating beating of the warm heart, the deafening, pitch-black darkness in the middle of the broad daylight, they are registered and acknowledged one by one at a pace slower than a fragile toddler's shaky steps and his world falls apart and shatters into tiny, atomic icicles before snapping back into the solid glacial fortress that it is. And quietly in a croaked voice, he whispers the name of his only saviour who will never let him reject the ready rescue.

"…Ichigo…"

…_Only you can give me warmth that does not destroy what I am. _


	7. 037Epitome:Epitome

**Title**: Epitome  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 #037-Epitome  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: General/Romance  
**Rating**: PG-15  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Hitsugaya is getting seriously irked by Kurosaki's staring but that's because he does not know what's going on in the orange head until the last minute.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: One paragraph of maturity but nothing explicit to warrant R… or so I think.

* * *

**Epitome by HeukYa**

* * *

"…Kurosaki Ichigo, what the hell are you staring at?"

Ichigo easily shrugs off the irritated voice coming from his lover behind Mt. Paper Everest and wonders not for the first time if the captain really cannot see through the papers. But soon, he returns to his task at hand; marvelling on the very existence seated a mere metre away as he ogles at his own image of the snow-crowned beauty on the stacks of papers.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of many, especially for him.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of ice. When those eyes -could they be referred so mundanely as 'eyes' when you could so easily lose yourself in their shimmering magnificence?- look at you with the gaze that would pierce even the Sekkiseki-guarded walls of Seireitei with arctic frostiness, you would feel a chilling shiver running down your spine regardless of your guilt in whatever crime that had landed you in the way of the sharp frozen shards are throwing.

"…Kurosaki, I'm going to kick you out of the office if you don't stop gawking at me."

This time, Ichigo grins crookedly without a word which only serves to earn him the aforementioned glare. Now, the piles have been reduced just enough for the tips of the pristine spikes to be visible just above them. So Ichigo asks himself again whether the papers are one of those magic windows that you can see out of but not into.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of a heavenly guardian, or so they say, anyway. To be honest, Hitsugaya Toshiro is, for him, simply the heaven itself, nothing less. But then that is just for him so as far as it goes with the gawking gossipers, Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of a heavenly guardian born once in thousands of years. And quite often, he thinks they might not be all wrong either because when he watched the young captain soaring through the sky, it honestly seems that the vast, pale blue canvas is welcoming the brief return of its beloved, easily taking in the boy in white from head to toe as a part of its generously cloud-splattered picture.

Suddenly, Ichigo thinks he needs to confirm what he is about to say, or rather, think. Truth be spoken, he just wants to see that cherubic face that tingles his very soul every time his eyes relish in its beauty.

"Hey, Toshiro."

The small shinigami spares a second to answer the call by looking up from the desk. So far, baffled curiosity takes up most of the cold teal globes, but Ichigo does not take much notice of it, nodding silently to himself which makes the white eyebrows furrow.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of absolute brilliance and seriously, he means that. The statement can be apprehended in a variety of ways but all would be correct. How on earth someone could silently go through endless papers for hours and hours and actually manage to contain all information in that small head of his, he would never know. When the captain grows thoughtful, the scene is in fact rather frightening because he bet his soul that he can hear the gears flying at 200mph and no humans, alive or dead, is supposed to have _gears_ inside the protective skull. So much for a genius, because Ichigo swears that the tenth division captain owns a super mother computer beneath those gravity-defying spikes.

"I'm now thinking I probably don't even want to know what's going on in that thick skull of yours."

Blinking impressively innocently, Ichigo stifles a chuckle at the choice of words his lover just used and the said lover simply growls, turning his attention back to yet another paper.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of a dragon, again, in many ways. Dragons are wise. So is Hitsugaya Toshiro, at least for his age. Dragons are patient. So is Hitsugaya Toshiro as long as it does not involve his vice-captain and papers. Dragons are fierce. So is Hitsugaya Toshiro because once in a fight, he does not hold back, freezing a 12km radius around him in a flash. Dragons are powerful. So is Hitsugaya Toshiro, the youngest captain whose zanpaktou rules over the snow and ice. Dragons are possessive. So is Hitsugaya Toshiro. While the vast majority remains under the false perception that the child genius is a moving block of ice with an emotional range of rice grain, Ichigo knows much, much better. Not that he minds it. The breathtaking discovery of the all important word 'jealousy' on the dictionary of one Hitsugaya Toshiro had been more than terrific albeit dangerous. But the most fatal by far is that dragons can be very temperamental, especially when they are grouchy. It is just a bit of a shame that Hitsugaya Toshiro tends to be in a grouchy mood almost 24/7.

By now, he is allowed an unobstructed view of Hitsugaya Toshiro only down to the eyebrows, but it is more than before. The hazelnut eyes recognises how the forehead is creased just like any other times and for a brief moment, let his mind wander on a random topic of whether he should be worried they would be a very wrinkled couple centuries later. On the other side of the desk, the emerald jewels drift up for a split second, catches the continuing staring, and the end of the knitted eyebrows twitches as the lips thin into a line. Ichigo thinks that he is perhaps now starting to worry the frosty captain because he had always been a good boy and refrained from riling his lover during his work hour.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of innocence. Yes, the boy slashes Hollows and chops their heads off without even batting his eyelashes. It takes nothing less than the worst possible supernova-sized bomb-like news to make him at least flinch and the way he holds himself indifferent to almost everything that life throws at him reminds Ichigo of a royally old granny than anything else. However Hitsugaya Toshiro is, as unhappy as he would be to hear this, innocent. As innocent as a newborn lamb. And Ichigo is reminded of the very fact every time the porcelains cheeks look ready to explode in deep crimson volcanoes when all he had given him is a mere peck on the milky skin.

Almost tearing the brush away from the hour-long grip for a brief break, Hitsugaya wonders, not without a hint of annoyance, what is going on in the idiotic strawberry's mind but when he let his eyes fall upon the orange-haired teen, he only regrets it, flushing in deep cherry red, because the way the hazelnut eyes are glazed as they stay defiantly rooted on him, it reminds him of the heated night they had shared together just last night. On the other hand, Ichigo simply goes about with his musing because unknowingly, the two had inadvertently landed on a same memory at the same time.

Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of a mastermind seducer. The way the low voice laboriously calls out for him in overwhelming bliss, the way the wet lips part open for the mindshattering, pleasure-filled gasps, the way the flawless chest heaves rapidly, the way the dainty hands scratch his back and grips him tightly, Ichigo can only conclude that Hitsugaya Toshiro has been using his praised mind on uncovering the best way to throw him into a pitch-black oblivion.

But above all, Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of-

"-love."

The captain blinks at him at the abruptly uttered word as if he has just grown another head, the baby cheeks still tinged with rosiness.

"What?"

Chuckling at the complete perplexity from the prodigy, Ichigo shakes his head and Hitsugaya irately tries to decide on what the simple action actually means but soon it does not matter because the substitute shinigami is bent over the paper-scattered desk, blocking his view. And cautiously, a pair of slightly chapped but warm, loving lips lands on his and as the soft touch coaxes him into opening up for a wet exchange, his world narrows down to nothing but him and one Kurosaki Ichigo currently lapping at his heated lips, drawing a trembling sigh from him before finally allowing the intrusion.

Then suddenly, Hitsugaya _knows_ where that single word came from, why Kurosaki has been staring at him nonstop for the past hours. And when he is released from the irresistible kiss at last, Hitsugaya scoffs with a harrumph and quietly mutters.

"Corny sap."

Ichigo mentally adds one more at the end of his list; Hitsugaya Toshiro is an epitome of one violent, cynical brat.


	8. 041Angst:Waiting

**Title**: Waiting  
**Series**: 50scenes challenge #041-Angst  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Comfort  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: On one raining summer night, Hitsugaya receives a late visit from Ichigo.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: None

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

It's up to you whether you want to see this as an established relationship or otherwise. One way or not, it's supposed to be slash.

* * *

**Waiting by HeukYa**

* * *

It has been a dishearteningly gloomy day in Seireitei. An Impenetrable mess of deep grey clouds have loomed imposingly over the chaotically yet neatly laid out terracotta-topped buildings and from the depressing cover poured down buckets and buckets of crystal clear drops, leaving wet trails on the tiled grounds, the stony walls, the orange-brown roof tiles, and the wide-opened window of the tenth division administration office.

The air is thick. The peaking humidity has turned the invisible atmosphere almost palpable and a little swing of a hand through it feels rather clogged and resisted in the moist-heavy air.

That is, though, not enough to stop the small hand ceaselessly striding across the paper smoothed out flat on the desktop in the dimmed office with only a handful of candle lights illuminating a small area around the white-haired prodigy. There is a fluorescent light that would provide enough light to floodlight the whole room and overflow out to the murky ground outside through the window but it appears that the captain is either too absorbed in his work to spare a few seconds for it or he is happy with the obscure, flickering softness of the orange fires that are slowly consuming the white bars of wax.

The truth is, while it is not one of his more clever decisions, straining his already weary eyes like this, Hitsugaya feels compelled to do so for some reason. For a reason that he is yet to find out, something tells him that the overshadowed darkness in the silent sanctuary of his is something more than the captain merely wants. There is a feeling of necessity in his almost frightening intuition and though lost in the work he may be, Hitsugaya is waiting. Waiting to find out what requires this blinding darkness.

The ends of his rolled-up sleeves sluggishly creep down his arms and with a sigh too quiet for the level of irritation he feels, Hitsugaya puts down the abused brush carefully on the jet-black inkstone. It is only the third week of June yet the despicable heat is already gaining its hold on his work-frayed nerves. There is a little stirring from Hyourinmaru that brings his hands still for a second but nothing more is felt and the wielder resumes the task of tightly curling up the black fabric. However the dainty hand stops the moment it touches the sleeve because this time, his spiritual sense has picked up something distinctive heading towards his division and Hitsugaya suddenly knows that this is the precise reason why his office remains doused with blackness.

Therefore when the wildly fluctuating reiatsu comes to a halt just outside of the administration office and then the wooden door finally slides open, almost painfully harsh light breaking the consistent, soothing shadow of the room, the beam disrupted by the sad shadow of an orange-haired substitute shinigami, the prodigy is not surprised of the appearance but the teal orbs widen slightly nevertheless because the state that Kurosaki Ichigo is in is more than just sorry.

Hitsugaya's sensitive hearing picks up what should be inaudible to any normal human; the tiny sounds of water droplets joining the small puddle that has already formed on the polished floor around the rooted feet of the teen. For a while, they simply look at each other from the opposite ends of the room and the captain is inwardly glad that he is blessed with such foreseeing intuition.

Kurosaki Ichigo is hoarsely screaming of pained guilt and sadness sans sound and Hitsugaya Toshiro is the only one who can hear them.

The division is empty save the two of them. And with the night's silence and the gentle pelting sounds of rain, irregular yet constant, whole Seireitei feels empty save the two of them. Then finally, there is a little shift in the dripping orange tuft and a husky voice, trembling in its strain, swims through the clammy summer night. The obvious, miserable attempt at the normality, coupled with the tearful body language, reminds the prodigy of an unskilled pierrot with foul make-up and even before Hitsugaya realises, the white eyebrows have already knitted deeply.

"Hey, Toshiro. I know it's late and all but…"

A highly distressing noise of the legs of the heavy chair scratching the ligneous floor leads to an uncharacteristic flinch from the hunched teen who instantly clams his mouth. On the other hand, the small shinigami merely moves over to close the window which shuts out what little extra light the moon had spared along with the background music the rain is playing then treads across the room as he takes off the pristine haori, barely making any sound.

Hitsugaya comes to a halt one step in front of Kurosaki and looks into the chocolate eyes that are finally close enough for them to be visible for him. What he sees in them does not surprise him and without a word, he reaches out for the soaked shihakushou and uses the tight hold on the wet fabric to drag him into the office while the other hand, clenching his haori, closes the door. The room plunges back into the blackness and only the now empty desk is anywhere that they have any chance of recognising each other.

However the desk remains void. Though invisible, the symbolic garment lands square on the top of the dripping orange mane and for a moment, Ichigo is lost in real, complete darkness before he slowly reaches up for the clothes. However, an unusually hushed voice, just loud enough not to be called whisper, stops him.

"Sit down."

It is a strange tone; apathetic yet sympathetic, indifferent yet concerned, soft yet authoritative. A cautious step backwards tells Ichigo that the young captain has actually brought him right in front of the plush couch, the only luxury in the bland office, and like an obedient dog, the teen sits down, vaguely registering that the soft cushions will be ruined but his mind too tired and messed up to care about it enough to voice it.

There is a movement from next to him to the front of him then startlingly, a pair of dainty hands land on his head, none too delicately weaving through the short locks with what is surely one of the prodigy's most prized possessions sucking up the cold moist.

Ichigo knows he should stop Toshiro from marring the precious clothes but he cannot bring himself to it because it is much more than drying his hair that those small hands are doing. Thickly swallowing a shaky sob, he falls forward into the boy's warmth. His heavy arms snake around the lithe form terribly weakly but the large hands vigorously rumpling the dry shihakushou betrays the teen's desperation. There is a short moment of pause in the rough yet comforting tousling but it continues soon enough although Ichigo can feel an uncomfortable tension still residing in the small body he is burying his face into.

Hitsugaya shifts the clothes in his hand so that the lower part that has remained dry so far can now take up the new purpose its owner has given to it. The well-sculptured features is faintly lit by the feeble dispersion of the soft light from the desk not too far away from the couch and is very much stoic as if the captain is simply facing another stack of paper.

The hush continues on. There is soft rustling of clothes in Ichigo's ears. There is soft pelting of rain in Hitsugaya's ears. The longs arms stay unmoving, wound around the slender figure. The slender arms does not stop in its rather mechanical yet tender forth and back movements that rubs the half-wet haori on the vibrant-coloured mess underneath it.

When even the time grows still, there is a weak, artificial breeze around his head as the haori finally makes its leave but Ichigo does not lift his head. There is not even a twitch of a finger and Hitsugaya merely stand there, his arms hanging at his side with the now soggy haori slackly held in his hand. Yet it is not awkwardness that feels the humid office.

It is almost like a still-life picture and only the slow rise and fall of two chests breaks the perfect stagnancy of it.

Through the shihakushou, Hitsugaya can feel the slightly heated breath of Kurosaki as he keeps his turquoise eyes vacantly staring ahead of him. His mind vaguely registers that he is soon going to have to get a new candle out because the final one at the right side of his desk is about to kindle the last of its life.

"…Toshiro."

Nothing comes from the captain but Ichigo can feel those shimmering teal orbs on him and he simply slides up the warm, dry chest until he reaches the junction where the slender neck meets the shoulders. There is a sharp intake of air next to him but he ignores it and presses his face into it with one chaste, light kiss on the smooth skin.

The petite hand that has loosely curled around the damp haori tightens a little but that soft contact is all the substitute shinigami gives, now only the regular ins and outs of air tickling his hypersensitive skin. Nevertheless, the indecipherable sea-green eyes show a flitting hint of relief because although the teen is still dripping all over the red couch and the shiny floor, the atmosphere around him is gradually morphing into something less harrowing.

There is a little stirring and Ichigo is about to seek out for another velvety contact on his lips but the monotonous voice unbefitting the small, young stature cuts through the hot, moist silence.

"Lie down."

Again, like an obedient dog, Ichigo frees Toshiro from his arms and sluggishly turns to flop onto his back. It is not the most obvious or the most heartwarming display of care or love but nevertheless, the anguished teen relishes in it because he knows that the icy captain would not think of ruining the all important haori for anyone else.

"Close your eyes."

And so, the brown eyes plays blind to the world around them and something light and silky lands on top of them but Ichigo does not bother to find out what it is. The cool presence next to him is still there and that is all he focuses on because that is much more pleasant than what is threatening to overwhelm him as the dreaded night rolls around again for yet another year.

"Sleep, Kurosaki."

There is a subtle, almost undetectable movement and Ichigo thinks that the prodigy is returning to his desk. Therefore he is more than a little surprised when a baby-soft hand coyly grasps his exanimate one, the cold heat unwaveringly staying to wrap itself around him.

"…Arigato, Toshiro."

And Hitsugaya does not comment on the little drop that travels down Kurosaki's cheek from what is hidden underneath the cerulean cloth that he had unwrapped from his zanpaktou. Although it is ill-mannered, he sits himself down on the table next to the couch, all the while not letting the callused hand go.

The air is thick. The peaking humidity has turned the invisible atmosphere almost palpable and a little swing of a hand through it feels rather clogged in the moist-heavy air. The shaky breathing soon smoothes out to undetectable, calm waves of the summer night's silence.

And with a last flicker, the fickle light gives out at last, and the office plunges into total darkness, utter stillness.

And outside, the rain has stopped.


	9. 042Loss:Pledge, oath, never

**Title**: Pledge, oath, never  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#042-Loss)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: General/Romance  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toshiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: You cannot die without my permission and I cannot die without your permission.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: None apart from crappy writing and royally corny stuff

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I started writing this with only a brief, simple idea and I think it all spiralled into ravelling later on. sulks in a corner You can pick on it all you want, I'm feeling like a really, really cynical, angsty, emo.

Enjoy. (Reviews are love.)

* * *

**Pledge, oath, never by HeukYa**

* * *

It has been days since Karakura has last been graced with any rays of ever-glowing radiance as the town has entered its annual monsoon season. Humid-filled, opaque clouds pack the vast sky to every crook and corner, over to the far horizon, the outlines of its swirly chunks only just visible. The river flowing through the town, the river that an important someone of one of the Karakura residents had died next to, has been threatening to flood over the high banks with its turbulent, frightening crashes of water and the police and firemen had spent the entire day building extra barriers on either side with sand-filled bags, most of the villagers volunteering to help.

However, the river has now been long left on its own, its violent flow free to grate away the stone banks with the endlessly increasing volume, as the crescent moon attempts to peek out through the thundering cover, all its effort in nothing but vain. If it has not been the human intelligence of electricity and light bulbs, the town would have been thoroughly soaked in pitch-black darkness.

The angry drops of rain pelt against the glass windows, the sound wave easily trespassing into one shaded room over the Kurosaki clinic. The occupant does not seem to acknowledge the noise slightly muffled by the thick curtains tightly drawn over the window. After all, for one, it has been something of a constant background noise for nearly two weeks now, and for two, the owner of the room is blissfully lost in the feather-soft world of dreamless sleep.

All is silent save the ceaseless rain that has turned the thick, sticky air almost visibly watery. The mod soul is, assumingly, peacefully slumbering in a corner of the built-in wardrobe. The rest of the house is doused with tranquillity.

So, he asks when he suddenly finds himself blearily blinking at nothing but enveloping blackness, what the hell is he doing right now, waking up at some ungodly hour that he does not care to know?

With a quiet but definitely irritated groan, the orange-haired teen shifts onto his side, clumsily groping around for the skyblue comforter then dragging it up further up to block out the incessant knocking from the heaven's precipitation.

A tiny, content smile faintly flits across the sleep-filled face as the cosy warmth of soft cotton surrounds him. Then one moment, he is snuggling into the mushy pillow then the next, he is abruptly bolting upright with disbelieving eyes, snatching the soft curtains wide open, and he feels his jaw hitting the floor, or rather, the bed he is on. After wasting a precious handful of seconds at gawking at the scene in play in front of him, Ichigo quickly unlocks the window and slams it open, not caring at all if the loud clash disturbs his family's sleep.

"Toshiro, what the hell are you doing here?! What… why… You are properly soaked! How long have you been there? What's going… Wait, wait, get in. Get in now."

And without bothering to wait for the small captain to follow his words voluntarily or give a verbal reply, which Ichigo is not sure if he will get any, given the sorry state his lover is in, he grabs the limp arm and roughly but tenderly pulls the dripping shinigami in. The fast cooling comforter getting ruined is the last thing on his mind.

Toshiro is a mess. Or at least that is what he had thought first. Now that he is calmed from the flurry of sudden shock after waking up in half a mind to recognise the familiar reiatsu lingering outside his room just before the drowsiness almost claimed him again, nothing really seems out of place except the fact that the white tendrils are clinging onto the cherubic face with the clogged dampness, the gravity-defying spikes all but gone, the frozen teal orbs even more glowing than usual with something he cannot quite label, the somewhat ghastly shade the baby-soft skin has taken on, and the completely soaked shihakushou. Crystal clear droplets of moist continues to gather at the knuckles of the clenched fists, the quivering weight getting too heavy in almost an instant and soon free-falling onto the wet patch of the rumpled heap of feather-filled cotton.

Right, so he is not injured, he is not bleeding, but everything _else_ is out of place.

"Toshi…"

"Kurosaki."

The hazelnut orbs widen a little, blinking in surprise. The hushed voice sounds throaty and forceful, the incredible amount of effort to prevent any trembling all too audible even for an imperceptive blockhead like him.

"Yeah?"

"…I'll never leave you, Ichigo. I'll never die before you nor will I ever die in front of your eyes. I'll never leave you behind, ever. If I draw my last breath, it will be at the same time as you."

This is far beyond disturbing. The turquoise eyes seem somewhat hollow yet they are so intensely boring into the shocked brown ones, pleading desperately contrary to the resolution frighteningly hard in the low whisper.

"What's going on? Did something happen?"

Nothing comes from the drenched captain, not even the slightest shake of the white-tufted head or a swift blink over the gleaming emerald jewels. Toshiro is simply staring at him with such consuming fire, scrutinising every detail of his strangely twisted face as if to etch it, burn it into his mind so deep that it would last forever and then longer.

"Toshiro, talk to me. What happened? Are you going away on a dangerous mission?"

"…No."

An answer. Finally. With a wave of relief washing through him, Ichigo brings his hand up to caress the baby cheek, barely stopping flinching away when his fingertips come into contact with glacial chill emanating from it.

The callused palm cups the round curve while a thumb glides across the pale skin and the caring touch has the glistening teal orbs fluttering shut as the snow-crowned head leans in slightly. Ichigo knits his eyebrows a little at the small action filled with craving, slowly getting an idea of what has rattled his baby dragon.

"…What did you see, Toshiro?"

There is a sharp intake of air but the captain remains still, his arm remaining obediently in tight clutch of the teen, his eyes hidden behind the shuddering eyelids, and his cheek pressed into the large hand providing the comforting warmth that melts the thin, slush sheet of frost on his skin. The tranquil yet firm voice rings in his ears, gently thrumming his eardrums and spreading throughout his soul like a ripple on a calm lake and he cannot help exhaling longingly.

"I'm here. You're here. We're here. It was not true. It will never be."

There is a little shift in the weight distribution on the stained mattress, followed by a gentle, soft meeting of two lips, one slightly chapped but burning with never-ending heat and the other frozen to paleness. A wet slickness flits across the stiff petals tenderly and a feeble shudder electrifies the lithe body as the delicate vibration of air hits the slowly thawing flesh from just an inch away, the teen's calm breaths and quietened whisper brushing over it more elusively than a spring breeze.

"Tell me… And I'll tell you however many times you need to hear that it isn't true…"

Ichigo feels, more than hears, a shaky sigh making a hurried leave from the cold lips that he is hovering above, and lets go of the lax arm in favour of raking through the marshmallow-soft mane.

So it has hit his lover again. And the teen wonders why he was so surprised to find the boy utterly still like a wax statue outside of his room in the middle of the night when it had already happened countless times before. Perhaps it was the drenching rain. Perhaps it was that desperate yet determined, crumbling yet fiery look on the small face.

"What did you…?"

"…Worst…"

Ichigo opens his eyes only for a brief moment in a displeased scowl but almost immediately shuts them again as he closes what little distance there is between them, coaxing the icy petals patiently but only until they start to tentatively move against his.

"…I died again?"

Nightmares. One of the worst tortures one can receive, for it steals away your sense of reality, your reasoning, your sanity and your breaths. And Hitsugaya Toshiro, containing too much pains, miseries, sadness and losses all within that tiny body of his with not a single outlet, is an all too frequent victim of the dark, tormenting curse.

After all, dreams are supposed to be a reflection of one's subconscious, nightmares, of one's deep, chilling dreads and bleeding wounds, and Hitsugaya Toshiro possesses far too many of them behind those icy walls of his, each tightly, tightly locked in its barred chambers, only to come thrashing out when the boy is too tired to keep them at bay.

"…No…"

The strangled reply halts the shower of tender kisses and Ichigo pulls away just in time to see the sea-green eyes reluctantly opening. The strange, cerulean rays of glow has disappeared, leaving them in soothing green, but the contradictory frosty fire remains.

"I didn't?"

_But you said it was the worst which always meant I so idiotically died while you had to watch_, Ichigo swallows the words thickly, overcoming his surprise at the unexpected answer quick enough. He has heard enough of variations of the warped memories that haunt his all too silent lover to know that just about any form of cruelty is possible in the horrifying nightmares. At least, if he did not die this time, then perhaps, he might not have to feel like kicking the dream-Ichigo's ass into the next Sunday.

"…What happened, then?"

Ichigo smiles a little as what he had so smugly named as his Shiro-special relaxation technique seems to be working its usual magic as the dainty hands, their temperature that of arctic, crawl up to his arms, to his shoulders, then to the sides of his face in a rhythm that matches their lips softly colliding. It is seldom that the captain actively seeks the physical contact but when he does, it is a lot more than a simple necessity so Ichigo willingly lets the glacial yet feather-light touches roam around as they wish.

"…I died."

"…That's certainly new…"

"…I died… I died from a stupid mistake and you were just a step away from me… You cried and I had to watch it all… Then I saw you suffering… suffering so much after I was gone… guilt eating you away… tears never drying… turning deaf, blind, mute to the world… shunning everyone out… turning into nothing more than a lifeless ragdoll… I had to watch it all and you couldn't hear me however much I screamed…"

The chocolate eyes are more sombre than they have ever been as the small shinigami croaks on in broken whispers, just loud enough to stir the humid air around them then dissipate into nothingness right behind Ichigo's ears. For once, the teen cannot find anything to say for his lover that has rushed to him for confirmation that all of the distorted perceptions had been nothing but imaginations, illusions, because at the back of his mind, he knows that he will be nothing more than an empty gigai if his teal-eyed yuki hiime ever dies, especially in his arms.

"…To…"

"You cannot… You cannot be like that. You cannot. For my sake. The pain. Your suffering tears me apart more than anything else."

The outright confession of his love should startle him a bit -a lot- because Ichigo cannot remember the last time that Toshiro has so directly spoken of his deep care for him, but the shock is yet to come as the teen's face contorts into a hesitant, sorrowful frown.

"…But…"

"So I'll never leave you. Never. You'll never die in front of my eyes and I'll never die in front of your eyes. You cannot die without my permission and I cannot die without your permission."

Ichigo blinks, shamelessly gaping at the stiffened face. This is far beyond disturbing but in a different sense. It is something that he is more likely to say than the icy captain yet Toshiro has undoubtedly just spoken them and the turquoise eyes are asking him to seal their promise.

Then a crooked smile breaks out. He should have known. Hitsugaya Toshiro would never say anything so weak, anything so impossible as 'if I die' because 'if I die' means 'if I ever fail to be powerful enough to come back to you'. Hitsugaya Toshiro would not ask him to be strong and go on ahead with his life 'if he dies'. Instead, he swears he will never leave him. He says that between them, one cannot die without the other's consent which both know will never come.

He realises that for the first time, Toshiro has not come to prove the twisted illusions wrong. Toshiro has come, bearing a resolute determination born from the cruel torture, revolting against it with fury that no hell will have, because it was him who had suffered and his baby dragon will not stand anything bringing anguish and misery to his beloved, be it real or false.

"…Sure. I pledge my life to you. You own my life until you wish otherwise."

"Which will be never. And mine to you until you wish otherwise."

With a nod, Ichigo tightly clutches the lean body and presses his lips on his lover's, disregarding the wetness turning his thin pyjama shirt into a crisp sheet of frosty ice.

"Which will be never."


	10. 009Her:Frozen nostalgia

**Title**: Frozen nostalgia  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#009-Her)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: The last string that had been so fragilely reconnected is cut. Bittersweet reminiscence encases him. Until-  
**Spoilers**: Smallest ever for Soul Society Arc  
**Warning**: An implied character death. Shitty writing T.T

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

**Waraji** is the straw-woven shoes the shinigamis wear in Bleach.

This is as nice as I get to Momo. I almost left the explanation out for the AN but inserted it at the last minute.

I had to stop halfway through this because of something and then continued it again later -- a bad mistake. I completely lost it and had so much trouble with the ending. It's not really good... (sobs)

* * *

**Frozen nostalgia by HeukYa**

* * *

The dreary grey that envelopes Soul Society is unshakable, adamant on soaking the slowly moving figure in its gloominess. The strides are surprisingly firm, compared to its dragging sluggishness. Moist-heavy air stirs around the shinigami, an uncaring wind trying to lure him into its feather-light dance, but he simply walks on, not even batting his eyelashes at the glacial breeze that has stolen all the humidity from his sparkling yet blank eyes.

The waraji-clad feet move of their own accord, treading the familiar route automatically even without the conscious instruction from their owner, for the said owner is currently incapable of such an order. In a moment that the shinigami does not realise, the ground has changed from flat, grey pavers to straight-lined, polished woods and his brain sends belated signal that he should have taken off the sandals before entering his empty quarters with only half a mind to register his arrival at the destination. When the deadpan orbs slowly look back, they catch wet, muddy footprints on the otherwise spotless floor.

The eyebrows knit only by an inch unlike the usual deep creases and with an impassive sigh, he turns and heads back to the front door. The flat palm of a small hand is first to reach the cold ligneous strips crammed to each other, followed by the shinigami, sitting down gracefully and soundlessly just like any other time. The long zanpaktou rubs against his back, the sheath digging into his shoulder as he crouches at the edge, hunched over to reach the woven shoes, but there is no hint of discomfort as the fingers nimbly and methodically work around the straps. Then suddenly, there is an unexpected voice just next to his ears, the gentle chiding soft and warm.

'_Mou, Shiro-chan. I told you not to leave them all thrown about. If your feet weren't so small compared to others, you would've lost them so many times by now!'_

'_Shut up! Don't call me Shiro-chan and who says my shoes are the size of a midget?!'_

The echoes of playfully teasing chuckles flits by him, the ghostly sounds more elusive than silvery mist over the lake in the cool early morning. He turns his head a little but all he sees is a bland, white wall staring back at him in its stern emptiness. There is not even a sigh from the shinigami. He merely takes his feet out of the waraji, stands up, and turns around, heading back the way he had previously gone halfway.

Nothing seems to exist in the premises. If anything ever does, it is only the unbreakable silence, the vast space strangely empty of anything and everything. The familiar choking sadness that such silence carries is more than just impalpable; it simply is not there as if even the simplest accompaniment of the atmosphere is too much.

Having reached the bedroom, he inclines his head a little to ease the departure of his zanpaktou while his feet continues to carry him into the next destination that turns out to be the bathroom. It cannot be said for sure whether the actions are of his conscience or of his subconscious as the routine is a daily one once he relieves himself of duty but it does not matter either way as the same voices float through his numb mind again, this time, in reversed order.

'_O, oi! Stop pushing me in!'_

'_Well, I'm going to do the laundry now so unless you want to do it yourself, be a good boy and take __**a **__bath now and give me your yukata! I've already laid out another clean one for you!'_

The shinigami jerks forward slightly as if the imaginary, light-hearted push is real on his back but this time, he does not turn around to confront what the logical part of him knows to be void air. Instead, he only gazes at the pair of tabi covering his feet for a moment, standing in the middle of the stagnant, quiet room.

It is only a few seconds before one by one, the white and black garments are shed, all of them heading for the basket in the corner. On one of the shelves is a neatly folded set of shihakushou and a haori, already waiting for him. The stoic turquoise eyes bend an equally stoic gaze on them only for a flitting moment and the shinigami is soon walking into the bathroom, his hands empty just like the rest of the house.

The tub is a generous size for a single occupant but not something that would be labelled as big and in less than a handful of minutes, it is brimming with warmly inviting water, silvery steams rising from the surface. The only noise is the feeble splash of water against the high-ends of the bath as the shinigami lowers himself into what he is so intimately linked with, the speed not any faster nor any slower than usual.

The scorching caresses of the water are almost painfully stinging from his neck all the way down to the tips of his toes. Indifferent to the sensation, he topples his head back, flexing his fingers as they curl and stretch against the supple resistance that swirls around each of the digits. The feeling is soothing and comfortable. Or at least, it should have been. He is not entirely sure if that is what he perceives at the moment. In fact, he is not sure if he perceives anything at the moment.

'_Shiro-chan, don't fall asleep in the bath!'_

'_Of course not! What on earth gave you the idea that I'm sleeping in a water-filled bath out of all places?!'_

Small bubbles rise to the surface of the water and vanish in almost inaudible pops as the snow-crowned head creeps down the slanted edge of the bath, submerging under the rippling pool. The prickly sensation assaults his lips, his cheeks, his closed eyelids and his forehead. The white tendrils sway eerily in the soft current of the stagnant water, undetectable by naked eyes from outside if not for the drowned mane.

The darkness, the warmth, the silence. The combination of absoluteness is pressing but at the same time, strangely comforting. And relaxing his entire body, he allows himself to be submitted to the utter stillness as scenes, too many to be counted, flashes in a ceaseless sequence, perhaps behind his eyelids, perhaps somewhere inside his mind.

'_Shiro-chan, let's eat watermelon!'_

'_Shiro-chan, you look so cute in the academy uniform!'_

'_Congratulation, Hitsugaya-kun! You really are a genius!'_

'_Hitsugaya-kun, can you help me with my training?'_

'…_I… I don't know… what to believe any more… Shiro-chan…'_

Some lack sound**. **Some lack colour.

Some lack background. Some lack the people.

Some lack reality. Some lack in what would be helpful distortion.

And in midst of the flickering images, comes the lack of the sense of time.

It was not supposed to have been the end of those memories. It was supposed to have only been another new beginning. With the girl awaken from the distorted hypnotism at last, with all the days and weeks he had spent with her, helping her back on her two feet, it was going to be the biggest turnabout in their history since becoming shinigamis, and a nice one, too; the hope had returned, the liveliness along with it.

When his sister, reinstated as the acting captain of the fifth division, left Soul Society leading a team with the old sweet smile and clear, sparkling dark brown eyes, he had not imagined that it would become the moment of cruelly severing the strings they had only just started weaving together again after too long of an unwanted break.

Another group of bubbles travel up the unmoving water. _Pop, pop, pop_; as soon as they reach the end of the wetness, they disappear into nothingness, merging into the fog-filled air.

But the clogged, opaque air seems different. It is no longer soothing and smooth; sharp and cutting describes it better. The atmosphere is swiftly losing all the sizzling warmth. The hot, swirling steams have now turned into cold, glacial precipitations.

The surface of the water in the tub is still; utterly, completely, perfectly still -- and is solid. What had once been carelessly free, only contained by the rectangular wooden frame, has, in an unknown moment, been imprisoned in its own transformation. And it is getting thicker and thicker and thicker.

And for the submerged shinigami, there is nothing but the paralysed timelessness, the world anaesthetised by the chaotically deadened mind.

Until-

"Toushirou!!"

Crash.

What the tightly clenched fist smashes is not only the densely frozen cover but the consciousness that had been lost in the bittersweet reminiscence and even before the teal orbs that have shot wide open have chance to recognise the intruder, the shinigami finds himself gripped, held, embraced, cocooned by fire roaring with fierceness that rivals its wish to protect him.

"…Ichigo?"

"I came as soon as I heard… Idiot, what were you thinking?! What were you doing?!"

The white eyebrows knit and the emerald jewels glistening surreally blink in clear perplexity. Two lean arms come around the broad chest, patting the back lightly and somewhat awkwardly as if the boy did not know what the fuss was about, and the taller one pulls away, the face contorted in sheer devastation.

"Toushirou… Did you… not know what you were doing?"

"…What…"

Then he stops when around the waistline, he feels something colliding chillingly against his skin. But before he can look down, one of the arms so firmly holding him is already on its way and up with it comes a cracked shard of distorting ice that has drifted across to its creator now brought out of the lost subconscious.

"…I… didn't know."

"…Toushirou…"

"…But you'd come… wouldn't you?"

The unexpected question has the hazel orbs staring before narrowing in sadness mirroring what the boy seems to be too numbed to consciously acknowledge its true magnitude. Thin sheets of moisture are draped over the seagreen eyes shimmering like find diamond dusts and while the cold face is dripping wet with water running down the delicate curvatures from the white locks, the orange-haired one _knows_ and presses the frozen body against his scorching one, his burning reiatsu tenderly surrounding the arctic one filling the entire room.

"…Of course, Toushirou. I'd always come for you. Always."


	11. 044Christmas:Shall we dance?

**Title**: Shall we dance?  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#044-Chirstmas) Can work as a prequel to Teaser (#002-Gasp)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It's Christmas Eve but it's going a little unusual for a certain white-haired shinigami.  
**Spoilers**: None.  
**Warning**: FLUFF with capital F. Unusually happy, OOC Ichigo 'cuz I don't see even my sappy Ichigo doing this…-/- Unusually compliant Hitsugaya?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I wrote this with sudden inspiration really. I hadn't meant to make it this long but the words just flowed in XD The inspiration of the fic comes from a Korean song called _Nostalgia_ by Yozoh and Eric with Brown Classics in the oddest way. I'm not usually a big fan of that type of songs but this one, I'm really hooked on. The MV is posted in the fic community over in LJ if you're interested -- Just hit the Homepage link on my profile.

Also, although this is a standoff on its own, I realised while writing that it can be the prequel of Teaser, the smut I had written for prompt #002-Gasp XD I had a bit of laugh when I realised it and changed the ending to work so. (grin)

* * *

**Shall we dance? By HeukYa**

* * *

The sky had long turned to obsidian darkness, fine specks of sparkling dust almost invisible in the overwhelming blackness. A thin slice of silver hung aslant in the ebony vastness, its feeble light nothing but elusive for the dwellings in the ground below; not that it really mattered for the world of the souls was sound asleep -- save for one.

It was, after all, a daily occurrence that the tenth division administration office was lit brightly well into the night and then the early morning. Sometimes, it was hard to tell whether the light had been put off due to the very late departure of the last occupant or the shy peeking of the rays of the dawn.

The aforementioned room was surreally cold as the window remained open in the chilly, late December night. The only sounds to be heard were the delicate hairs of the brush, soaked with jet-black ink, travelling across and down bristly papers and the occasional sighs, some irritated, the others, simply tired. And of course, who else could it that is holding the said writing tool and issuing the said sounds, but the tenth division captain, Hitsugaya Toushirou?

And to say that the said shinigami was just annoyed was, really, quite an understatement. First, there had been a myriad of stupidly stupid papers literally flocking in like a horde of grasshoppers attacking a rice field the size of China. Then just after lunch, a very nervous subordinate half-walked, half-crawled into the office, reporting that a group of them had gotten into a little 'play' with Kusajishi and that two third of the training ground was now going to be useless for a week at least, as he trembled from head to toe. When he had sent Matsumoto to inspect the extent of the destruction firsthand, it had turned out to be another mistake of the day; he had not seen a single strand of strawberry-blonde hair or those stupid, lethal boobs since then. And as coup de grâce, the ever smiling, self-appointed step-father of his that went by the name of Ukitake Juushiro had dropped by his office near the end of the day, practically burying him under the mountain of candy-filled stockings, looking very proud of himself that the special packs were on season this time. This, in turn, alerted Hitsugaya of the date that he had been overlooking for however long it was; 24th December.

The prodigious captain was not oblivious of the human culture and traditions; in fact, he was rather well versed with regards to them, perhaps better than those stationed in the real world. Spending three years as a lover of a stupid human who never let any special occasion just slip by would do that to any shinigamis even if they were not as gifted as the famed tendo of Gotei 13. Therefore, Hitsugaya knew what the day was; what he did not know was why there had been no words said about it from his dimwit strawberry until now. If the two previous years were anything to go by, the orange-haired teen should have been pestering him for at least a week by now for him to take time off and greet Christmas together. Although the substitute shinigami was usually quite understanding of his circumstances, there were a few times that he would be simply adamant that Hitsugaya come over to the real world and this night that a fat grandfather dressed in red supposedly brings you a gift in secret was one of them. The methods applied in order to persuade the dutiful captain was of a varying range, some of them quite amusing, that last year, Hitsugaya had already organised an off-duty for two days but pretended to be very much caught up with work, just so that he could see his naive lover trying this and that.

Anyhow, hence he was sat at his desk, the small hands never stopping, the turquoise eyes sharp as ever as they scrutinised each and every paper that were put forward, while his mind was actually darting around the subject of one Kurosaki Ichigo and his atypical behaviour.

A freezing wind floated into the quiet office, blowing off some of the papers on the top of the numerous stacks before he could press them down, and with the ends of the white eyebrows twitching, Hitsugaya stood up as he lifted the high-back hair a little as not to torture his sensitive hearing with the strained screams of the four legs against the wooden floor. Not a single one of the sheets had landed in the same place and he had basically taken a tour around the whole office by the time all of them had been gathered in his hand.

Returning to his desk, he took a quick glance out of the window. Judging by the position of that sad excuse for a moon, it was nearing midnight already. The captain inhaled the freezing air deeply then heaved out a resigned sigh; it seemed he was going to have to pull another all-nighter yet again.

Having placed the fallen papers back on where they belonged, he was just about to start again on the one that he had been halfway through when-

"?!"

It was miles away yet he swore he could hear the sounds of running footsteps thundering towards him as if an elephant was trampling down his division and Hitsugaya stared at the door of his office in stunned incredulity as he recognised the flooding reiatsu that accompanied the noise shattering the night's calm tranquillity. The footsteps grew louder and closer and after a skidding halt to the door he was gawking at-

"Toushirou! Merry Christmas!!"

The forehead creased, the white eyebrow arched up, and the teal orbs shocked, Hitsugaya shamelessly gaped at the widely grinning substitute shinigami standing at the doorway with various things tucked under his arms.

"Kurosaki? What the hell are you doing??"

"You could be a little nicer to your boyfriend, Toushirou. I ran all the way so that I can say merry Christmas to you exactly at midnight!"

"…Right. Merry Christmas to you, too. You didn't answer my question."

Ichigo rolled his eyes at the stern voice and taking in gulps of air to calm his ragged breathing, he stepped into the office, closed the door with much difficulty, and then flopped down on the couch that was usually occupied by the busty vice-captain of the tenth division. All the while, the turquoise pools had followed his every movement and by the time the teen had safely placed everything down on the table, the surprise had already turned into suspicion on the small face. Undeterred by the scrutinising gaze, Ichigo patted the place next to him on the couch, inviting his lover, as he explained what had been going on.

"I thought that for this year, I'd let you have your way and bother you only for the night at Soul Society. Why, not happy?"

Tilting his head a little, Hitsugaya examined the substitute shinigami carefully but found no signs of illness; he had been certain Kurosaki had either eaten something very wrong -Inoue Orihime could do that to you quite unintentionally- or it was himself who was too tired and was now hallucinating.

"Curious is probably more of a correct word. Why the change?"

"Geez… I do love you, Toushirou, and while that was the reason I always had you over in my place so I can make sure you relax, once in a while, you get to play it the way you want as well for this day."

Blushing a little at the candid words, because even after three years, those honest 'I love you's could still heat up his face, the captain finally stood up and moved to the couch. Ichigo merely smiled happily; Toushirou had long learnt that resistance was futile in situations like this since he never, ever gave up until the stubborn brat had no choice but to give in.

As soon as he sat down, a pair of slightly chapped lips landed on his rosy cheeks at which Hitsugaya pushed the orange-haired 'pervert' away only half-heartedly and then scanned an assortment of tidbits the teen had brought over. There was even a small cake amidst them along with some other foods, a wrapped box which he presumed to be some sort of present, a bottle of champagne that he had taken liking to during his last stay in the real world, and a small but quite powerful speaker where the gadget that humans called iPod was already in place.

"You've come prepared, haven't you?"

"Of course. Just because I'm spending the night here, it doesn't mean we don't celebrate Christmas. After all," Another loving kiss on the temple this time, "it was the same day I received the best present ever in my entire life."

"Corny sap."

However, despite the harsh words, there was an undeniable little tug at the corner of the sweet lips and Ichigo chuckled at the small display of happiness on the usually scowling shinigami.

"Look, we have three candles to blow off this year."

"Remind me why on earth we have to do something so immature every year?"

"Because you love me."

"For God's sake…"

Ichigo laughed at the faintly amused exasperation from his lover, the trembling almost snapping the thin, fragile candle that he was about to put on the cake in half. The other two joined and in a second, small yet bright orange flames were burning up the wax. Looking at his work proudly, he beckoned Toushirou to come closer to the cake and said quietly.

"You know the drill." The captain looked half-miffed and half-embarrassed, the baby cheeks turning to sakura pink again, but he knew he would be doing it with him nevertheless. "One, two, three…"

"Happy anniversary!"

"Happy anniversary…"

And with blows from two o-shaped mouths, the fickle lights were put out in an instant. Hitsugaya only shook his head, which he had dropped into his hand while his lover chuckled and offered him a fork while taking the now sorry-looking candles out with the other hand.

"C'mon, tuck in. You missed dinner again, right?"

Without a word, the prodigy held the fork but instead of eating the cake decorated with fake mistletoe at a corner, he frowned and looked at the teen.

"Kurosaki, seriously. Why did you not tell me about the date? I know I should keep track of it myself but it's impossible at the end of the year with all the annual reports."

"I know, and I told you before, it's okay. You had to spare 48 hours away from the office when you are busiest for the last two years; I'm just giving you a break in a different way. Now, open up."

And suddenly, there was a fork with a mouthful of the cake sitting precariously on the top of the prongs, hovering in front of his eyes, and Hitsugaya blinked before sending a flustered glare at his stupid lover.

"Baka… I can eat myself."

Ichigo only grinned.

"I know. Now, aaahhhh-"

"Kurosaki!"

"Alright, alright. Damn, so I fail again."

The next hour or so was spent talking, eating and drinking, soft music quietly playing in the background from the speaker. The cake was not too sweet as to put off the young shinigami, the other dishes prepared by Yuzu were delectable, and the champagne had been left in the fridge until the last minute to allow for it to be pleasantly crisp and chilled. Hitsugaya had actually skipped more than just dinner in his packed schedule and by the end of the hour, there were nothing left but the empty dishes and only a third-filled champagne bottle.

Through the open window entered the fresh winter breeze continuously, keeping the air clean and cool, and with their stomachs happily filled with good food and a fair amount of alcohol running in their systems, the two lovers quietly sat in the couch, side by side, enjoying the companionable serenity that embraced them. Then the track came to an end and when the next one started playing, the captain could literally see the gleams of amusement coming alive in the hazel eyes and nearly scooted away reflexively at how much they reminded him of Matsumoto about to pull some senseless prank.

"What are you…"

However, even before he finished his question, Kurosaki had already stood up from his seat and dropped into a courteous bow before a hand was outstretched for him.

"Shall we dance?"

"…Wh… What?! Kurosaki, are you drunk?!"

"Maybe, maybe not. Who cares, Toushirou, it's only us here and no one will see."

"…No way."

"Please?"

"…No."

"C'mon, please? Just this once. Just until that song finishes."

On the speaker, a merry voice sang of a fated meeting between two people along with the light, nostalgic sounds of an acoustic guitar. The melody was soft and sweet, the beat more on the slow side. A heavy blush blossomed on the delicately sculptured features averted away in embarrassment and the prodigy crossed his arms across his chest, refusing to look at the substitute shinigami as he murmured.

"…I…I've never danced before."

"Huh? Who says I have? We don't have to be good or anything, we just gotta move together. I'll help you, get up."

Toushirou looked half-ready to bolt from the office and never return and shaking with suppressed chuckles, Ichigo grasped the dainty hands and pulled his lover onto his feet, all the while the seagreen orbs remaining fixed on the boring, spotless floor.

"All we gotta do is-" Ichigo wrapped his arms around the narrow shoulders like he had done so many other times when he hugged his icy prince and smiled when he felt two lean arms coming around his waist almost automatically. "-move together." Then with an impish grin, he added, "Why not stand on my feet?"

"What?"

"You know; if you find it that awkward. Then when I move, you move. Like when children stand on their parents' feet."

The mirth in the words was evident and springing away from the idiot, Hitsugaya bellowed, "Kurosaki!! I'm not a child!!"

Ichigo burst out laughing, tightening his hold around the lithe body so that the ruffled dragon could not escape, and managed to insert a few words between his choking laughs. "Sorry, sorry, just kidding. What I was going to say was that we move together and try not to step on each other's feet."

The teal eyes shot him millions of daggers before the small shinigami unhappily gave in, still seething, and with a crooked grin, Ichigo started to move very slowly.

It really was not something you could call dancing; it was merely swaying sideways, maybe turning a little with each step, but most of all, breathing and moving as one.

The night grew even quieter, if that was even possible. No other sounds existed save the gentle melody of the song and the occasional bristling of the couple's clothes. The music was just loud enough for them to hear the soft rhythm yet not enough to break the pleasant serenity.

And with each beat of the music and with each tiny step they took together, their hearts fell in synchronisation, their reiatsus mingled together, and their existences merged into one slowly and tenderly, as they listened to the same song, listened to each other's heartbeat, moved to the same song, moved with each other, and breathed in each other's scent.

Nothing was said. There was no need for any words.

They were there, together, as one in something deeper than the simple words of the description, and that was all that mattered.

The time slowed and then speeded and flowed. With one last chorus and one last chord of the mellow acoustic guitar came the end of the song. And with it came-

"…I love you, Toushirou."

"…Ichigo…"

"Happy anniversary."

"…Happy anniversary."

The muscular arms loosened and both saw for the first time since their little dance, the small yet perfectly content smiles that mirrored each other and chuckled with slight blush, Hitsugaya rolling his emerald jewels. Then the look in the chocolate eyes changed and the captain instantly frowned but before he could utter a word, he found himself swept off his feet and unceremoniously dumped on his desk that they had moved close to during their baby steps.

"Wh…"

"Toushirou… Since you didn't remember…"

"It was you who said it's okay!!"

"I didn't say it's not, but since you didn't remember, that would mean you haven't prepared any present unlike your devoted boyfriend here…"

Hitsugaya looked up at the Cheshire-cat grin on his so-called devoted boyfriend's face from his place, trapped between the smirking strawberry and his desk, with a hint of wariness which soon changed to flushed realisation, momentarily forgetting that he was currently lying on top of countless important documents as the substitute shinigami continued.

"I'll just get my present myself."

"…Wha…"

Ichigo winked, diving down for the luscious petals.

"Toushirou… What else would I want except the best present of my life?"


	12. 013Heart:A part of me

**Title**: A part of me  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou, Kurosaki Ichigo x Inoue Orihime  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round. I most certainly don't own _Never had a dream come true_ by S Club 7.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: A part of me will always be with you  
**Spoilers**: None, I think  
**Warning**: Song-fic

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

So I lied; Ice fortress was not my last ever song-fic. I never liked S Club 7 but the song holds its own significance to me for personal reasons. On the other note, I'm not sure if it's actually angst but I didn't know what else. Nevertheless, I hope you find it readable(?) and please, reviews/comments are loved.

* * *

**A part of me by HeukYa**

* * *

_Everybody's got something they had to leave behind  
__One regret from yesterday that just seems to grow with time_

It was a one happy family; anyone with open, working eyes would be able to tell you that. The parents were still in their early 30s, perhaps even late 20s. Their only child was about the age that would have just started walking, the little steps all too swaying and unstable yet obviously the boy insisting stubbornly that he would take on the demonically long road himself. Each of the toddler's tiny hands was gently and securely held by the smiling parents who slowed down their strides on either side of him, ready to lift the boy in the air should he trip before the unpleasant collision with the hard asphalt.

It was not difficult to tell where the young one's bright orange hair came from; his father, half-scoffing and half-smirking, all in rather evident amusement at his son's antic, sported identical mess of spikes in unadulterated orange, his mother's, only a tone darker. It appeared the boy had inherited the perpetual scowl etched on the father's forehead as he stared hard at the end of the road but clearly, the large, warm greyish globes were those of his mother.

_There's no use looking back or wondering (or wondering)  
__How it could be now or might have been (or might have been)  
__Oh this I know, but still I can't find ways to let you go_

Far in the distance, in fact, far back from the contentedly strolling family and up in the air, a lone figure stood desolately, still and silent, while the wide sleeves of the black kimono danced softly with the breeze. The indecipherable teal orbs were rooted on the back of the trio attracting the attentions of the bypassers with their unhindered laughter and the shocking vibrancy of the hairs; more specifically, on the broad-shouldered back of the quieter one of the three whose smirk had grown softer over the years since the last time he had seen it. The matching scowl was marring the small face yet faintly seeping from the stiff lines was a hint of self-satisfaction and gladness outwinning a touch of pain he refused to show.

_I never had a dream come true till the day that I found you  
__Even though I pretend that I've moved on  
__You'll always be my baby  
__I never found the words to say  
__You're the one I think about each day  
__And I know no matter where life takes me to  
__A part of me will always be with you._

With every step, the child was evidently growing more confident, the speed increasing, strides becoming bold rather prematurely. The shinigami let out a weak scoff, the frown that spoke of too little yet too much of complicated storms of emotion easing by just an inch; it truly was like father, like son. Even from where he was, his sharp gaze caught the enthusiastic tugging from the young one on the interlinked hands, hurrying his parents up as if they were the slowest of all snails.

_Somewhere in my memory  
__I've lost all sense of time  
__And tomorrow can never be  
__Cos yesterday is all that fills my mind_

It had not been a wrong decision back then. His vice-captain had accused it to be only a sad self-justification but once more, time had proven him right. He had not been being a hero or a martyr; he had merely done what every lover would do -- making the choice for the best interest of who owned his heart.

Far too many had stood against them; just about everything he could think of, in fact. A captain of Gotei 13 and a ryoka; a decades-old shinigami and a teenager too young to be called an adult even in the real world; a male-male relationship. It had not been a story written with a happy ending in mind, no matter the effort the other put in trying to convince him otherwise. Though young in Soul Society he might be, he had lived much longer and he was that much wiser.

_There's no use looking back or wondering (or wondering)  
__How it should be now or might have been (or might have been)  
__Oh this I know but still I can't find ways to let you go_

With the end of the winter war had come the candidly expressed wish of the substitute shinigami to lay down his powerful zanpaktou until the rightful time came for him. The cause for the sudden decision had not been verbally spoken but there had been no need for it between the two. It was painfully obvious what the wounded brown eyes told him in their wordless conversation; _there is no reason for me to keep the connection with this world when you no longer want to be mine_.

It had taken all of his willpower to stop his icy mask cracking and pitifully shattering into pieces, and then more to hide the heart-wrenching pain that had crushed his chest, shutting the crucial air out of his lungs. When the pentagon-shaped badge had been returned and the Soul Society empty of one unusual ex-ryoka, his vice-captain had simply taken him back to the division and cleaned the bleeding wounds on his palms and applied white bandages around where his nails had been digging in, the last few oozing crimson rivulets instantly ruining the pristine gauze.

_I never had a dream come true till the day that I found you  
__Even though I pretend that I've moved on  
__You'll always be my baby  
__I never found the words to say  
__You're the one I think about each day  
__And I know no matter where life takes me to  
__A part of me will always be_

Only those that had been close with the orange-haired teen had sometimes outloudly wondered what he would be doing in the human realm. Most of them did not really care, for they knew they would be seeing him again in due time and shinigamis had more than enough of time to spare.

As for himself, he never showed any interest or curiosity; not had he even batted his eyelashes when the unforgettable name had been mentioned but on those days that his vice-captain carefully and subtly slipped in a few hints indicating that the ex-substitute shinigami was unharmed and doing well in all senses, he simply feigned ignorance when she took a self-prescribed early departure for what would be undoubtedly alcohol-laden night.

_You'll always be the dream that fills my head  
__Yes you will, say you will, you know you will oh baby_

Countless nights had been wasted on the shimmering moon hanging out of reach and countless more on dreams that would never come true; no, dreams that had once come true but was not meant to last.

_You'll always be the one I know I'll never forget_

It had taken only a week after the permanent departure of the one who had melted his heart of ice for him to resign to the fact that he would never be able to forget the other, what they had once had together, despite his best effort and his best effort was something enough to force the mighty dragon to grant him bankai in only a year since discovering the grand shikai.

_There's no use looking back or wondering (or wondering)  
__Because love is a strange and funny thing (and funny thing)  
__No matter how I try, I try I just can't say goodbye, no, no, no, no_

More than a decade had passed by the time a special investigation had landed him in the one village that he still remembered every crook and corner of. And for the first time since the abrupt, hurried goodbye, he was here, seeing for himself what his vice-captain had been relaying in bits and pieces in the most casual, natural way possible. And he smiled for the first time in a long time because he had proved to himself at last that all the past loneliness and gnawing and the heavy weight on his heart he had borne had not been for nothing.

The excitement and the obduracy were never a good combination, especially not for those of Kurosaki bloodline, and it was no surprise the child, in his hurry, escaped from the protective flanking of his parents in the end and rushed off, only to trip and fall on his third step.

Kurosaki was still a Kurosaki, young or not, and with another scoff, this time reassured relief finding its way through the frozen mask, the shinigami turned around. The duty called and he had now ascertained that there was nothing to worry about anymore; a pang of sharp pain shot through his heart at the thought but he only furrowed his eyebrows minutely. Whatever his intention had been, he had hurt his once lover; the pain and the longing were his to bear and his alone. And, and his hands curled into small fists here, stand there any longer and the urge to get just a little closer for that musky scent might succeed in overwhelming his waning self-control. Because whatever he had pretended, a part of him would always belong to the one he could not be with and a part of him would always be with the one he could not be with.

_I never had a dream come true till the day that I found you  
__Even though I pretend that I've moved on  
__You'll always be my baby_

He was not going to take one last glance over his shoulder. He had wished for nothing more than what he saw and so, there was nothing more he had to see. Then, just the moment he had been about to shunpo away-

"Kurosaki Toushirou! I told you to be careful, look at you now."

The stunned turquoise pools snapped back to the scene he had been watching over for the past few minutes, widened to size of full moon. There, the man who had once been an idiotically grinning teen with a zanpaktou as tall as him was leisurely walking up to the child getting back on his feet only to have them entangled again, landing him on his bum this time. Laughing exasperatedly -- and the sound sent shivers down the shinigami's spine because in the past decade, that laugh had not changed at all -- and clucking his tongue, the father easily lifted his son up and passed him to the mother that had hurried over, her long darker orange hair gently swaying sideways.

Slowly, a tiny, sad and heart-wrenchingly fragile smile upcurled the lips that had parted in pure shock. His back still turned on the reunited family, he let his creased features relax as if he was back in the times that he had not had to be anything but 'Toushirou' then a second later, there was nothing but a wind through the clear blue sky.

_I never found the words to say (never found the words to say)  
__You're the one I think about each day (you're the one I think about each day)  
__And I know no matter where life takes me to  
__A part of me will always be_

The vibrant chatter between the child and the mother took a sudden halt when they realised the other male of the family was still where the toddler had fallen, his head upturned a little over his shoulder with an inexplicable expression that rarely adorned the handsome visage.

"Otou-san! Otou-san! Hurry up or kaasan's cooking her special curry tonight!"

"And that really wouldn't do, would it?"

Ichigo laughed at the genuine horror in those striking dark ash-coloured eyes, pleading him to stop the imminent food poisoning, and slung his arm around his friend-turned-wife, chuckling at the confused frown she wore; she still could not understand just what part of her cooking had made him take lessons from Yuzu. With a shake of his head, he stirred the two towards home.

"Don't worry, Shiro, I won't let you die."

"Hooray!!"

He stayed just a second longer in his place, watching the back of his wife and child, before casting another slightly bewildered glance at the void sky. For a moment, it had felt as if the iciness he had not felt for so long yet could never forget had returned to his side, but…

He shook his head, mentally laughing at his fickle fragment of imagination in a rather derisive manner. After all, there was no way it was real. No matter how much he wanted to feel that surreal frostiness… Yet, yet he knew. Deep in his heart, he knew. Despite the wounds on his heart, there still remained a part of him missing in this realm, having taken its residence in the other world. Breathing in deeply, he smiled somewhat wistfully; _I'll see you again when it's time, Toushirou… And we'll dream again, this time, for forever_.

And with echoes of loud footsteps, the family was back on a matching pace with each other, the parents side by side and the child happily wrapping his short arms around his ever smiling mother while the dark globes sparkled at his father, heading for home.

_A part of me will always be with you._


	13. 045Flicker:One decision for three

**Title**: One decision for three  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#045-Flicker), Sequel to A part of me (#013-Heart) -- continues to (#019-Without)**  
Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: This was not the way he had imagined it to happen.  
**Spoilers**: None, I think  
**Warning**: Character death but not quite character death…?! You'll see what I mean ;;

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

This is probably not what people had expected the sequel to be like… since many asked for reunion back in Soul Society, but I've had this idea set in AU for the prompt for a while and I thought I could turn it round as the sequel to A part of me. I hope it doesn't disappoint you. **It does not quite end here either** ;;

Also I got Inoue calling Ichigo with his given name, not the usual Kurosaki-kun, because, having been married, she would surely not be doing that ;; Also… I think Japan also has the woman taking her husband's surname once married but Hitsugaya and Rukia still call her Inoue because that's the way they had called her before and they had not met her after she got married to Ichigo -- an old habit.

Enjoy and please review.

* * *

**One decision for three by HeukYa**

* * *

_It had been just another ordinary day with an ordinary start and ordinary going-ons of the division; until the moment his vice-captain walked in. _

"_Taichou."_

"_Matsumoto, I told you that specific stack has to be handed in by today and I don't see a single one signed. Care to explain why?"_

"_Taichou."_

_The twitching irritation morphed to confusion, the untiring curvy striding of the brush coming to a halt. Acknowledging the lack of the usual jovialness in his vice-captain's voice, Hitsugaya sighed and lowered his brush, finally leaving the stupid paper he was halfway through to look up, only to frown further. _

"_What's going on?"_

_Matsumoto nibbled her lower lip, her fingers fidgeting with the ends of the silky scarf. The silvery eyes were those of uncertainty as they met the relatively calm teal ones and carefully examining the stoic face that had remained frozen in the perpetual scowl since the War, she conveyed the message from Kuchiki Rukia who had urgently been sent to Karakura village for a certain reason._

"…_Taichou, you need to go to Karakura town right now."_

_There was no change in the rigid features of her captain but that did not mean she missed the clenching of his small hands resting on the desk on either side of the paper. _

"_So soon? Is it another mission?"_

"…_Kind of. It's… Rukia requiring back-up."_

"_Kuchiki Rukia?"_

"_Hai. Ichigo is… dying, taichou. And he's asking for you."_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The room was silent yet not. The high-pitched sound that punctuated another cycle of the fluctuating graph had never been more shrilling and the swashing sound of the air artificially pumped in and drawn out of the unresponsive body had never been louder. Countless monitors hung in the air, the meaning of their withering displays clear to even those unfamiliar with medicine. On the other side, tubes, the number too many to be counted, were weaving a complex path through the heavy air from numerous bags and syringes to the IV needle puncturing the back of a pale hand limp on the bed . A thick, plastic protector prevented any further damage to the already badly broken neck while menacing-looking metal pins stuck out from the right calf, holding the shattered pieces of bones in place. Another hose could be seen leaving the bed from underneath the blanket draped over the unconscious man, rivulets of dark crimson staining the transparency, collected in a plastic case resting on the floor.

Next to the bed stood a young woman, her long copper-coloured locks falling to frame the lowered face, her hands warmly wrapped around the man's hand that remained free of the medical equipments. The large dark-grey orbs stared down at the comatose man that she had so dearly loved, the last thread of his life on the verge of getting severed; the calm but turmoil gaze brimmed with so much emotion that the other occupant in the room could not even begin to describe.

Silently keeping her watch over her friends, Rukia stood at the corner of the room, glancing out of the window once in a while. Since sending the hell butterfly after many failed attempts to persuade Inoue, she had not said a word, letting the healer have her last moment with her only love undisturbed.

She could not say anything to comfort the woman still as kind-hearted as back in teenage days because though she knew what Inoue was doing and why, she could not understand _how_ she could do it.

Another beep signalled a new cycle of the graph and Rukia did not know what to think when she saw the red line showing almost a flat line with only diminutive dips and ups but never quite straight; it was like a candle flickering in its last moment, feeble in the wind, yet never burning out until the last drop of the wax has turned into the warm, orange radiance. Her ridiculously powerful friend had not grown any less stubborn over the last decade, apparently.

"…Inoue. We don't even know if he would come or not. At this rate, Ichigo's soul will be in danger, clinging to his dying body like that, and he already has a Hollow inside him. At least heal his body a little so the connection between the two is more stable."

However, all that garnered was a shake from the sadly smiling woman who had more than enough power to fix her husband's failing body to perfection in a matter of a few minutes.

"No. It was… hard to make the decision but I've made it. And I'm sure he will come. I'm sure he's already on his way."

And the words that rendered Rukia speechless were not wrong because right at that moment, just outside the large, white building, there stood a young boy-looking figure with snowy tuft.

-x-

For all he knew, he could have come to the bustling Karakura General hospital as a patient, not as a visitor. He was not sure if he was hyper ventilating but his heart was surely banging with tremendous force against his strained ribcage and the nervousness of all was making him feel almost faint.

It was too sudden and moreover, too early. He knew the time would eventually come when he would have to face the remnants of the past in a painful blatancy; there would come a time when that unforgettable sensation of the blazing reiatsu that used to lovingly warm his frosty one reside in the same realm as him, not letting a day pass without reminding him of who was only a mere few blocks at the most away from him. The emptiness of his heart had been upsetting at the best of times, sometimes nearly enough to drown him in its pain at nights, but the separation had been what had made the enduring easier, the long, constant lack of the encounters finally sapping the stark colours away from the precious yet torturous memories.

And with another few decades of inaudible sighs and sleepless nights from time to time, he would have had enough time to mentally prepare himself for the eternity as nothing more than a colleague of Kurosaki Ichigo who would no doubt make a captain in no time; who knew, perhaps what they had once shared would have become nothing more than another old, browned piece of paper in the book of his life that he would once in a while read again with a reminiscent smile. If he was amazingly, unrealistically lucky.

Either way, it seemed there was plenty of time for him to steel himself because the blockhead would not die so easily, not with his perseverance.

He was apparently very wrong.

It had been only a week since he had at last got a first glimpse of the one that a piece of him remained with after a decade of loneliness that had cut him deeper than ever before after the unforgettable taste of the burning love that was Kurosaki Ichigo. Only a week ago he had seen him smirking and laughing, whirling the toddler around through the air while his wife watched in mixture of worry and amusement. Surely, there was no reason for him to think that the time of confrontation would crash down in this manner.

Unnecessarily smoothing out the school uniform shirt, Hitsugaya lingered around the automatic gate of the hospital for a while, eyeing the patients, their carers and the visitors piling in and out through the glass door in an anxious frown. Knitting his eyebrows, he shoved his fidgety hands in his pants pockets where the fingertips touched the smooth, round surface of the gikongan. If he had been as impulsive as someone he had missed much yet never showed a hint of it, he might have just swallowed the pill and shunpoed back to Soul Society right there right now.

Why on earth was Inoue Orihime not treating him? Her power was still intact as far as he knew. Matsumoto had said that it was Inoue herself that requested his presence and Hitsugaya could not figure out the reason for the life of him. Since the brutal War had come to an end and the substitute shinigami returned his badge, the communication between the shinigamis of Gotei 13 and the almost bizarrely strong humans had been more or less non-existent, only those stationed in Karakura village exchanging occasional greetings with those who could see them as plain as daylight. And why was it _him_ out of all people? It would have made more sense had it been Abarai, given that Kuchiki was already there.

Puzzling questions simply continued one after the other with not a single decent answer and sighing quietly, he sharply turned and entered the building at last; there was no time to dwindle on anything right now because if the information was correct in its details, there was not much time left before things would take a turn for the worse.

However, the moment he stepped out of the elevator to be unexpectedly greeted with Inoue Orihime sitting on one of the chairs in the corridor, Kuchiki Rukia in her shinigami form patting her shoulder, his steps faltered before he knew and once more, a rush of confusion mixed with inexplicable dread coursed through him.

"…Hitsugaya taichou! You've come!!"

Following the relieved call, the healer who had once been a naively smiling girl snapped up and turned to him and it was only just barely that he stopped the startle becoming obvious on his face, covering it by deepening his typical frown.

"…What's… the situation?"

He winced at his own voice; it was uncertain and feeble, so unlike his normal self, though it appeared not to be very obvious because neither of the girls seemed to realise it, or more likely, they were too distressed to notice the weirdness. With much effort, he shifted his gaze to the one that had many a times taken care of his injuries as well in the past and was thoroughly surprised; the girl, no, the woman, was _smiling_.

"He's still alive… After all, he's rather persistent when it comes to getting what he wants."

"…Inoue, why are you not…"

Despite the baritone voice sounding as detached as ever, Rukia caught the caution the captain pressed the subject with and took a slow step away from the two then like mist, soundlessly slipped away without being noticed. The teal eyes had been cluttered messes of unsettled emotions, betraying the composed, stoic mask while her human friend's were bright of sureness. Having successfully escaped the moment and hidden her reiatsu, Rukia sighed and shook her head. Sad it might be, it was time that the red threads that had been tangled for a decade were straightened out even if she did not agree the way it was happening.

"Toushirou-kun. Do you know what Ichigo always used to say about when he dies?"

"…?"

"He always said that it would not matter to him however he died, though he wished it was to protect us but he definitely wanted you to be the one to konso him, no one else."

"…! Inoue, that's…"

"Will you, Toushirou-kun? Please?"

Faced with an entirely unforeseen question, Hitsugaya blinked in stunned shock, gaping at the soft smile unbefitting the tear wetting its path down Inoue's cheek. There was too much confusion whirling around him; the situation could not have been more unpredictable.

"…Inoue. I need to know why you're refusing to help Kurosaki. Surely, with your healing power…"

"…I refuse."

"…What?"

"I refuse to heal him, Toushirou-kun."

Orihime stared hard at the small face that had not changed much since the last time she had seen it displaying pure astonishment and perplexity and perhaps a hint of fear, conveying in her solid gaze that she was not changing her mind on the matter.

To say that it had been a hard decision to make was an understatement; to say it did not hurt to realise the truth was an even bigger understatement. Yet she had made her decision because this was Kurosaki Ichigo that she would do anything if only he would be truly happy.

And it was not this world that what her husband really wanted was.

"…Inoue, what actually happened?"

"…Toushirou… I mean, our son Toushirou… he… ran onto the road in his excitement just when a car came and Ichigo jumped to save him."

"!! Then…"

"…Toushirou's okay, just in a bit of shock… but… in his human body… Ichigo didn't have enough speed to get away quick enough before… The crash was… really bad, it was a big truck running at high speed…"

Thick silence settled around them, the hustles of the busy hospital something of another world to the two people whose heads hung low, their gazes fixed on different parts of the clean floor. Hitsugaya was thoroughly mystified to his core, rendered speechless; there was no other way of describing it. Why was Inoue, the one who had been and still was in deepest love for his once lover, so determined to send him to the other realm? However the bewilderment did not last long and still looking at the floor but seeing through it with hidden fluster and pain, he quietly muttered.

"…What did he say?"

Orihime smiled once more despite the moist welling up in her eyes. She did not look up just yet; acceptance and resolve did not make the aching in her chest any less painful and she thought just a moment of selfishness was something she was allowed at this time.

"Nothing."

The trembling emeralds whipped around, widened to size of full moon. Orihime still found the blank floor easier on her watery vision.

"…What?"

"Nothing. Just… just your name."

_Yes… just your name in such longing with such a wistful smile that screamed of the only thing he had ever wanted with his whole heart_, thought Orihime but she found herself choking on the words when she attempted to elaborate further. Now looking back, she wondered why she had never realised it before; all those gifts that had been far too small for anyone of their age, the frequent visits to Soul Society that had abruptly stopped after the War, his unexpected withdrawal from his substitute shinigami duty, the hint of resigned sadness that she and everyone else had mistaken to be of maturity, the naming of their son, and the odd atmosphere of desolation that used to wrap itself around him on snowing days.

It stung like hell and it threatened to tear her heart into pitiful crimson shreds; yet, even in situation like this, she could not find it in her heart to hate the one that she had hoped to fall in love with every time she was born back in this world because Kurosaki Ichigo had been the best husband that she could have hoped for and the best father their child could have hoped for. He deeply loved his family and genuinely cared for them wholeheartedly and had it not been because the man had already been only semi-conscious at best when she had scooped up the battered and bloodied body hastily in her arms on the street, that truthful slip would have never occurred.

She did not resent the time they had spent together. She knew he did love her; the unmistakable melancholy in his last wheezy word could have not come from anything other than a broken heart and he would not have committed himself to something like marriage with nothing but lies. However, it was clear that she was not the one who truly owned that fiery heart of his, the missing shard that she could not replace no matter what, because Ichigo had not taken her as its substitute but as a new occupant of another room. And it was that unfulfilled vacancy was the only key to erase out the mellow softening of the lively smirk.

Slowly, she reached out for the small hand clenched into white-knuckled fist and gently held it in hers, startling the shinigami, and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"Go in, Toushirou-kun. He's waiting for you."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Pushed and shoved in with a surprising amount of power, he found himself standing awkwardly in the private ward before he knew and it took him a moment before his disarrayed mind registered the bang behind him and recognised it to be the sound of the door closing. Blinking at the sudden change of the scene from the people-filled corridor to a coldly empty room, he automatically searched around the area as if he had been dispatched for an investigation then the rather shallow, fast breathing hitched as the swirling turquoise orbs found the sole occupant, still and silent.

"…I…chigo…"

And at the whispered name in the low, croaked voice, the line finally flattened.

The last flicker of the candle was burnt out and it was never going to be lit again.


	14. 019Without:Return

**Title**: Return  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#019-Without), Sequel to One decision for three (#045-Flicker)  
**Author**: HeukYa  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushirou  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It's time I get what I had lived without back.  
**Spoilers**: None, I think  
**Warning**: Character death of sort. Much simplified shit writing 'cuz I hit writer's block on this.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I completely lost it by the time I got to this part. I'm sorry T.T

* * *

**Return by HeukYa**

* * *

"Yo, Toushirou."

"…Ichi… go…"

"I've been waiting for you."

The lopsided grin is met with an utterly dumbfounded stare before it crumbles away and the white-haired boy hastily leans back on the wall behind him for support. And he quietly whispers, "…why."

The taller one does not answer and the smirk is replaced by an inexplicable frown. Uncertainty is thick in the air, both of them completely disregarding the chaos ensuing over the lifeless body that looks exactly like the orange-haired man.

Composition returns to the younger-looking one soon enough --because he is Hitsugaya Toushirou-- and the striking turquoise orbs look up, unnaturally brightened in the storming emotion that they cannot yet completely hide.

"Why, Kurosaki?"

"Do I have to say it?"

The terse conversation is cut short again. Someone shouts for a defibrillator but the two of them know it is already too late.

"Why, Kurosaki… Aren't I the last person you want to see?"

"I thought that might be what you would think."

"And this is your way of proving it? Making me come all the way down to the real world for nothing but your konso that Kuchiki Rukia is perfectly capable of?"

The baritone voice takes on a tone of irritation and trembling anger and the white eyebrows furrow in apparent displeasure; his heart gives another aching squeeze. How long he can put up this pretence, he does not know but he knows it cannot fall. However, the response throws him off for yet another time.

"…Because you have something that should have come back to me back then but didn't."

There is no need to ask when the 'back then' is and for a split second, a hint of forlorn desolation darkens the soft sea-green hues at the past memory of solitude relieved in a flash. He wants to say the same thing; perhaps not quite the same because he had willingly, though secretly, given it to the man standing in front of him. That was the way it was meant to have stayed, the human's obliviousness conveniently covering the truth, but unwittingly stuck in this unforeseen circumstance, the hidden yearning rears its head, asking him to let the other know. However that little desire is crushed like a bug and he steels himself for the beginning of what is set to be of eternity, the scraping of the wild reaitsu constantly reminding him of the presence of the one who still holds a crucial piece of him. It is planned out to be one hellishly long forever; the time span had once sounded too short just over a decade ago and the realisation makes him inwardly cringe at his own wistfulness that he does not deserve.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't have anything of yours in my possession and…"

"You do. In there."

The befuddled teal globes, reacting raw at the aches constantly attacking his chest, follow the invisible line mapped by the finger of the taller one, only to realise it is pointing at the supposedly incomplete organ currently trying to smash its way out of his chest. He fervently wishes the idiot would stop being so insolent and stupid because he feels suffocated and there is nothing that he wants to do more than just rush out of the room. Those words, those gestures, they are giving a chance for foolish hope to rise and he does not want to have it in the first place, let alone experiencing the cruel pain of another rejected dream when the reality laughs at his impudence.

"Ich… Kurosaki, stop fooling around."

"Who says I am? I'm being dead serious." Then the orange eyebrows knit. "That was one of the worst puns ever."

"Kurosaki…"

The growl turns into a heavy sigh and the smaller one brings up a hand to massage his temple and, more importantly, to hide his resigned hollowness in his eyes. With the suffering growing exponentially every second, he does not care about the reason any more. He will just do what the obdurate moron wants him to do and leave.

With a mental nod to himself, he takes a gikongan out but the substitute shinigami, now more full-fledged than he can ever be, is right in front of him before he can pop it in his expectantly opened mouth from which a hitched breathing escapes. The feel of the large, callused hand is on his chest before he knows it and the boy almost shudders at the touch he should have forgotten by now but obviously has not. Bitter sweetness boils in him derisively at the pitiful irony of the moment.

However the words he hears next shatter what little defence his ice fortress had against this unanticipated turn of events taking far too early than his expectation and promptly spinning out of his hands uncontrollably.

"You've always had me in here, Toushirou. I had never been complete since that day and Orihime's Shun Shun Rika isn't as all-able as it's rumoured to be. And… I guess she must know it."

The breathing has almost stopped at the saddened whisper, the trembling teal eyes opened so wide and lost that the taller one cannot help but smile sorrowfully. The hand stays flat-pressed on the tightened chest and when the orange-haired one speaks again, it is so hushed that the words are nearly drowned in the ruckus just next to them but they are the loudest, the most thunderous sounds the stunned shinigami has ever heard.

"And you, Toushirou? Did my emptiness have your company?"

He has lost; so perfectly, so clearly, so utterly, he has lost. The moist instantly welling up in those cerulean-tinged eyes, soon rolling down the colour-drained cheeks, is enough of an answer and with a true, honest, from-deep-in-his-heart smile that speaks of too many melancholy nights on the face that had matured a decade worth, the hand on the chest moves up to wipe away the tears. And an almost inaudible whisper hums throughout the room that has gone soundless in the belated realisation that any more effort on the comatose man in front of them is simply futile.

"I'm back, Toushirou, to where I belong."


	15. 048Voice:Sound of life

**Title**: Sound of life  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#048-Voice)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Out of all jumble he can hear, there is nothing but 'Hitsugaya taichou' he hears. It is not what he wants to hear.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Drabble of sort.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

…I was just looking at the prompt table on my master list, feeling a little guilty 'cuz I've been getting so into KHR! that I'm constantly getting inspiration for D18 fics while IchiHitsu is getting pushed to a backseat, then whipped this out in matter of a minute. It's short, it's vague, but I hope you enjoy. What's happened at the end is for you to decide.

* * *

**Sound of life by Kanon**

* * *

Voices flit in and out, all nothing but muffled mingles of sound waves, his hazy mind unable to separate them and recognise the words being showered upon him.

Warmth. There is wet warmth spreading on his back. Unlike usual, he finds it oddly comforting on the cold, ice-covered ground. Being able to feel it means he is at least still alive.

Desperation fills his deafened ears again but that is just about all he can make out. Voices. A number of them. All different pitches. They are all shouting different things but there is one that is common; 'Hitsugaya taichou!'.

He scowls a little, or at least attempts to. It is not what he wants to hear.

His last strength is slipping out of his weak grasp. Was he still breathing? He must be. He can still hear the bizarre heaps of… noises --his logical part knows it must be voices but what his auditory sense perceives is not voices any longer-- sounding distorted in his darkening world. It is nothing but echoes of unrecognisable hums and even if his brain says there must be a gruff one, a high-pitched one, then one that is somewhere in the middle, and various others that he should know who each of them belongs to, all he can make out of the jumbled sound waves attacking him is the urgency in the two words.

Then, one single voice cuts through the thick messy forest of jingles and buzzes ringing in his ears, piercing and clear as can be, and there is no mistake in recognising it --and he _can_ and _will_ recognise it anywhere, even in his current state-- because it is the only thing he prefers to the calming silence.

"Toushiro!"

Exasperation fills him inside and he scoffs.

That idiot had always had a tendency to show up at the last possible second.

Next time he hears that voice, he is going to make sure it is a pained yelp from a hard smack.


	16. 022Banned:Here's the answer

**Title**: Here's the answer  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#022-Banned)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Humour  
**Rating**: G  
**Characters**: Kurosaki Ichigo/Hitsugaya Toushiro and Karakura co.  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Really, this was not what they had expected.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Drabble of sort. Attempted and miserably failed humour. OOC Hitsugaya.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I know, Hitsugaya is OOC here. It wasn't quite what I had in mind but I was getting very short-lasted sparks for scenes today so I just let them flow. And by now, you should know that _my sense of humour is something that would work only to the arctic penguins_. My friend told me I should leave them alone before I force them to extinction. Che.

* * *

**Here's the answer by Kanon**

* * *

"Damnit, will you stop trying to snap my rib with your elbow?!"

"You're one to talk! Your arm would have connected with my face if I hadn't ducked fast enough!"

"You nearly poked me in my eyes!"

"And the time you nearly pushed me off the sofa doesn't count?!"

"Who was the one that was thrashing about?! You did that to yourself!"

"I did not, you moron!"

Karin simply sighed. Yuzu blinked and seemed unsure whether she should intervene this rather childish fight or not. Ishida pushed his glasses up, hiding the bewildered look in his eyes behind the glint. Orihime only laughed. Sado stayed silent.

However, for the two arguing boys caught in the heat of the moment, none of them existed. Then finally-

"That's it! Hitsugaya Toushiro, you are so BANNED!"

"Banned? I'm not a child that you can BAN me from things!"

"You sure are acting like one!"

"What?!"

Lifting an eyebrow in a cringe at the sign of another new row, Ishida sighed, eyeing the two innocent-looking white Wii remotes currently getting crunched in Kurosaki's hands, unknown to the loudly barking teen.

Really, who knew the answer to the grand question of how to unwind the icy prodigy would be a simple human gaming console.

"You are the one being a sore loser, idiot! I won that round!"

"Yeah, by attempting to smack me in my gut!"

"_You_ were stupid to be standing in my swing range!"

Ishida sighed again.

This was going to be a long night.


	17. 043Wrapper:Gift

**Title**: Gift  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Humour  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Matsumoto always does her best to please her captain.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Drabble. Humour-turned-trash.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

…I'm afraid I might be slipping out of Bleach fandom. That equals to heavy disruption in all my current Bleach works. Please send me your Bleach love (and quite more so helpfully, your reviews) so I can keep going…orz. Oh, and I made up Hitsugaya's fav colour. I haven't got a clue what it really is o.O

I _really_ should stop attempting humour.

* * *

**Gift by Kanon**

* * *

"Taichou! Taichou!"

The brush halted on its strides only for a brief moment before continuing its way while the turquoise eyes shot up then back down almost immediately.

"What is it, Matsumoto."

"Taichou, what's your favourite colour?"

The brush stilled once more, this time for a little longer. The small face spoke blatantly of suspicion and wariness. On the other hand, the busty woman practically beamed like a beacon of morning light. It only served to further unsettle the prodigy.

But surely, there would be no harm in giving out such a small, minor piece of information. Anyway, the lazy ass of his vice-captain would not leave him alone to get on with hispaperwork until she got the answer. Matsumoto could be, no, _was_ stubbornly insistent in the most ridiculous things.

"…White or ice blue. I assume that was all you had come for."

Apparently, Matsumoto did not hear him at all past his answer, frowning with a finger playing with her lower lip in obvious discontent.

"No, no… That's no fun! Oh well, shame. Right, taichou, see you later!"

The white eyebrow twitched as the remnants of wind flapped against the spiked hair and relenting his crunching grasp around the poor writing tool, Hitsugaya counted to ten in his mind, each number punctuated with deep breaths; it did help him to calm down the pulsing vein on his forehead though just barely.

It was not like he was unaware of just who the Matsumoto Rangiku was. And they had spent long enough time together for him to have developed an infinitesimal level of immunity to her stupid antics.

As long as she did not gain another level on her stupidity, he would be alright.

-x-

Hitsugaya stared and stared and stared, his teal eyes threatening to pop out and his jaw hanging slack. His hand was yet to leave the office door it had slid open with just a millimetre away from breaking through the hard wood with nothing but bare force.

On the red velvet couch that usually housed Matsumoto's limp form laid what he had first gathered to be a messy clump of shocking, blinding, _florescent hot pink_; until the heap gave quizzical and irritated jolts. And Hitsugaya well knew the muffled voice issued from underneath the rolls and rolls of the wrappers.

"Rangiku-san, let me out!! Toushirou, are you around?! Damnit, what's going on?!"

"…MATSUMOTO!!"


	18. 021Child:15

**Title**: 15  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 #021-Child  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Contemplation(?)  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It was, out of all things, the age of the substitute shinigami that had started the trail of thoughts leading to an unexpected question. But really, he had known the answer all along.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Random stuff that I don't understand either. Warped timeline.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

This little piece **ignores just about the entire timeline of the canon Bleach** because Ichigo is still 15 and it's June but Hitsugaya and Ichigo have progressed enough to already be in relationship. But it was number 15 that mattered so um, yeah. The whole 'age 15 being the gateway age when a boy turns into a man' was actually from a popular Japanese author, Murakami Haruki, on one of his works, _Kafka on the seashore_, but everything past that phrase is my own.

Enjoy and please review.

* * *

**15 by Kanon**

* * *

Age 15. Someone has once said that it is the age of boundary, the gateway age when a boy turns into a man; the eye of the storm called puberty, the pain of growing up into a big guy that can securely shoulder responsibilities, and the traditional tantrums that the younger self will have to crawl and tear through to shed its skin to later spread its grand wings.

However, hazarding a flitting glance to his side, Hitsugaya wonders if there is anything still left to do for the orange-haired teen that is 'normal' for what little is left of his current age; 15. Kurosaki Ichigo's existence as a substitute shinigami is already a sore anomaly in itself and the teen's daily routine is constructed in a way that places him on a precarious balance between the two worlds that were supposed to have never met each other, least of all, in this bizarre fashion of an impulsive, tactless, oh so _young_ human.

The scowling teen had, at one point, been a carefree, contently smiling child and the beaming smile that only sees the daylight once in a blue moon nowadays should have graced the world a good few years longer with its warm radiance; who knows, perhaps the Kurosaki Ichigo in that alternate future might have been a total opposite of the Kurosaki Ichigo he knows now.

The cool emerald eyes stoically watch the substitute shinigami lost in histhoughts, silent; it is what many deem to be a rare sight, if possible at all, and he had once been of those many in the past when they had been nothing but acquaintances and allies. Now, he knows that far more than anyone has fathomed lurks in the deep darkness like viscid magma silently simmering underneath the pressed layers of earth; behind the surface of the spontaneous spitfire-like stupidity, the raucous head-on blasts and the fierce will, there is the securely, almost desperately guarded hollowness where the light-hearted happiness that only the young's innocence could provide has been snatched away, not just from the orange-haired son but from all the children of the Kurosaki household. Behind the smirking scowl, behind the dry disinterest, behind the sweet kindness, each of them bears a void that cannot be filled no matter what. And the blood-drenched guilt had been merciless on the juvenile naivety that should have yet remained in the snug protection of the parents' steel wings, forcing the unprepared boy who had been barely into its childhood to dip his tiny feet in the ruthless whirlwinds of 'maturing'. It is sometimes frightening how the hot tears that had clogged up the throat and the suffocating nightmares that had been hand-in-hand with sleep-deprived delirium can be reduced down to nothing but a single word, its simplicity so unbefitting the sheer force of gale that had effortlessly and pitilessly tossed about the youngster that held, and still holds, unhealthy amount of pride.

And at the age of 15, the fate has, once again and as usual in that twisted way it reels its spinning wheel, taken the scowling teen to the most unusual route a human life could ever hope to take. And pinning his analytical gaze on the unmoving figure from behind, he cannot help but wonder if the one standing in front of him is merely a barely-grown adolescent that the cruel life has imposed the mask of an adult on because despite their contrasting and very much other-way-round looks, it is Hitsugaya who has already lived for decades and has certainly outlived those pesky stages of life a _long_ time ago. If the appearance is taken out of consideration, he is the older of the two in pretty much all aspects.

June. It is the milestone month that marks the half point of 365 days. Summer is slowly driving away the fresh coolness of spring and the sun boasts its heat, sticky humidity rising to stifle the air. A deliciously cool-looking shadow is only a few steps away and Hitsugaya can feel the spark of irritation trying to break past his self-control under the mounting temperature stinging the back of his neck but he simply hooks his thumbs on the edge of the pants pockets and shifts his weight discreetly.

15; too young to be called an adult but too old to be called a child. The age that might perhaps be included in the category of a 'child' if the description is somewhat stretched. Abruptly, Hitsugaya furrows his eyebrows at a question that enters his mind; behind that profound scowl and the gleeful smirks, behind that fervent passion and raw fire, behind that stubborn pride and notorious impudence, is there an average 15-years-old of Kurosaki Ichigo, uselessly clawing at the solid, door-less iron wall that refuses to let it out?

He does not know why on earth he is having these kind of thoughts all of a sudden, right now in the middle of June, right here in front of the gravestone of Kurosaki Masaki but now that it has come up, it crams his mind like a balloon expanding --and any balloon will eventually have to burst-- and filters everything out of his vision save the subject of the question now breaking into a faint, wistful smile, still unaware of the emerald gaze. And when the warm brown eyes leave the polished slabstone and turn to him, this time, looking a little more unrefined and obnoxiously dynamic like _Kurosaki Ichigo_, he hears himself asking,

"…When was the last time you were a child, Kurosaki?" _Because it's certainly not now._

The pools of melted chocolate blink in perplexity, once, then twice, then again, but they do not look any more insightful than before. Hitsugaya sighs and shakes his head with an air of disdain and aloofness en bloc before walking away because he knows that what they have come here for has been achieved and the previous smirk-like grin meant it was time to leave; had someone else been present, they would be wondering what their reaction should be to this seemingly peculiar scene where a child is asking an almost double-aged looking teen when _he_ had last been a _child_.

"Hey, Toushiro!! Oi! Wait for me!! What were you talking about just now?"

The icy teal orbs glance back and for another moment, the teen looks stumped, one orange eyebrow lifted high up the creased forehead. There is something of penetrating inspection in the gaze, a quick flash, before it disappears and Hitsugaya is walking away again, leaving behind one thoroughly confused blockhead in his awake. He should not have expected the idiot to understand his question; to be honest, he himself does not quite comprehend the nature of his question either. He knows better than anyone else that Kurosaki is shockingly incapable of obscuring himself from others and there is no way that the teen can pull off something so sagacious and articulate as masquerading as someone that he is not, lovestruck or not; not that he would, even if he could. Hitsugaya mentally rolls his eyes at himself; he has just done something ridiculously idiotic and pointless. He had posed the question but he had known the answer all along.

Aged 15; something of an insecure oddity between a boy and an adult; a sulky, brooding and downright stupid teenager, and one gets away with it because it is the fifteenth year since the first cry; a body of an adult, a mind of nothing but jumbles of immature maturity. Whichever one he fits in, it does not change the fact that it is Kurosaki Ichigo in front of him, currently scratching the back of his head, looking like a nursery kid presented with a mathematics question suitable for a master-degree student; utterly befuddled and perhaps just a bit irked. And Hitsugaya scoffs as he continues the walk back to the Kurosaki family meeting point'. As usual, he does not fail to deliver the most fundamental truth that matters the most.

"You are just an idiot." _-that I happen to love_.


	19. 004Change:Confession

**Title**: Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…?  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#004-Change), Prequel to Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…? Face the music (#010-Writer's choice, Alcohol)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Humour  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: A confession in a not-quite-so usual style; even for Kurosaki Ichigo.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: It's humour from me. Enough said. Oh, and OOC-Ichigo with a reason.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

Don't ask. But please review. And may I mention that I love the phrase 'old codger' snigger

* * *

**Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…? By Kanon**

* * *

"Hey, Toushiro!"

"That's Hitsugaya taichou to you!"

"Sure, anyway, what would you do if I told you I liked you?"

An abrupt freeze.

"…Excuse me?"

"I asked you what you would do if I told you I liked you."

"Idiot, I heard you just fine the first time."

The face that looks even more brainless than usual creases into one big puddle of confusion as the orange-topped head tilts. The kind of face that Ukitake would pull if he woke up one day and realised his two third seats had not turned up at his side at the first rustling noise of the comforter being pushed away. He is obviously lost. Seriously badly.

"Why did you ask me again then?"

"I meant, what the hell are you on about? "

There is something rather intimidating in just how swiftly the puzzled frown is replaced by a shit-eating grin with a small bounce of the broad shoulders. Maybe a bit alarming as well, like a cold chill that tells you that you should be very, _very_ frightened.

"It was only a theoretical question."

"Even if it was hypothetical, you just asked something so out of theblue the moment you walked into my office."

"So it's the place and time that's the problem, not what I asked?"

A quiet, unsettled sigh is the answer before the wary teal irises measure the teen radiating pure sunshine-brilliance as if Zaraki has just sworn to never chase after Ichigo for any death matches even in his afterlife; _fat chance of that_, he thinks to himself.

"What scares me is that I already know you well enough to know that this supposedly theoretical question is in fact not theoretical _at all_ and _this_", he points at the floor somewhere between him and the --is that moron swaying?-- teen, "was the most subtle, clever way you could think of asking me."

A nonchalant shrug with that stupid smirk. _Again_.

"And I know you well enough to know that you would never back down from answering questions directly presented to you."

"…Let me ask you something first."

"Fire away."

"Why on earth is your face looking like it's just come out of a charcoal-burning stove?"

"My face? Ouch!"

An exasperated sigh. The turquoise orbs remain suspicious; this is far above the level of absurdity he has come to expect from the substitute shinigami.

"…Your eye is not the best place to check the temperature of your face, Kurosaki."

"I know that!"

The emeralds narrow dangerously in a fashion that a certain busty woman has seen the most often. Shame she is not here to warn the following frozen version of hell.

"Don't tell me you are-"

"Toushiro. I like you. Quite a bit. Actually, kinda a lot. "

…Okay, so no frozen version of hell. The delivery truck has been involved in an unexpected crash with a giant strawberry. Instead, bright, bright red floods the small face and now, it is time to vote who needs less make-up for a tomato dress-up. Be serious now and squint because it is a tough decision.

"What?!"

The grin is now wiped off clean, the entire feature screwed up in a striking semblance to constipation. The hand that had nearly gauged the brown eye out lowers and cups the chin and the utter _idiot_ is looking so dead serious.

"So like, I've confessed, so… oh yeah, the next stage is me asking you out? "

"Huh?!"

"No, wait, does the kiss come first? I can't remember."

"Hah?!"

"Whatever, I like the sound of the second one. C'here, Tou-chan."

"To…Tou… Kurosaki, get the _hell_ out of here this instant!!"

A pout just below the abnormally sparkling hazelnut eyes. They complete a picture of… of something that he does not ever want to see again.

"Damn. And I had been getting excited as well."

"Excited over what?!"

"I'll show you."

A sudden grasp at the neck.

A sudden pull.

A sudden lunge.

And a sudden crash of sloppy, wet lips on frozen ones.

"!!"

"Ichigo, you brat, we finally caught-!"

The sea-green eyes are halfway there from popping out of the sockets and the new arrivals are only hastening the process.

Abarai and Kuchiki.

By the way, exemplary deer-in-headlight impressions, you two.

"Huh? Oh, you guys, look! I just told him I like him and I kissed him!! Hahahaha!!"

"…What?"

The incredulous word is more of a whispered squeak, two pairs of stunned eyes stuck on the laughing strawberry. It is not because they find the teen doubling over strange; the killing intent from the other one rubbing his swollen lips with iridescent cheeks will make even the strongest old codger fly**,** and they flinch pathetically visibly when a rumbling growl follows.

"Abarai, Kuchiki. _Explain_."

A loud gulp. Now, this is what they call the ultimate test of one's perseverance.

"Su, sumimasen, Hitsugaya taichou! We had given him just a glass of sake but we didn't realise how much of a lightweight Ichigo was! He went…" Hands flail, drawing all sorts of invisible lines and curves that are completely incomprehensible in the air, then in the end, go for the simplest and merely point at the quivering heap on the floor that is the still cracking drunkard. Convey the message; done. "Then he sort of just stormed out and…"

"Alcohol. _Again_. As if I don't have to deal with that goddamned thing enough."

Just as a chunk of white hair is almost ripped away, the sprawled teen manages to collect himself and sit up, spreading his arms wide open as he struggles to get back onto his feet. It is like watching a turtle turned upside down, trying to get back on all fours; an _orange_ turtle.

"Tou-chan, let's go to your dad!! Tell him all about us!!"

"That's Hitsugaya taichou to you and there is nothing to tell about us! And I don't have a father!"

The third-seats-less-Ukitake face is back and suddenly, he knows what is coming and before the words can leave the sluggish mouth, he shunpoes around the desk and in a blink of an eye, the side of the small hand has connected with the back of the wilting neck. The insanely naive laughter ceases with a dull thud.

"Abarai. Kuchiki."

"Ha, hai!!"

"Get him out of here."

They had never shunpoed faster in their lives.


	20. 010Alcohol:Confession face the music

**Title**: Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…? Face the music  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#010-Writer's choice, Alcohol), sequel to Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…? (#004-Change)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Humour  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It's next morning and time for Ichigo to rise and shine. Alcohol does wonders.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: More of a drabble. Same as the prequel without the OOCness from Ichigo. One f-word.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I had originally written it as an omake but I realised it's almost over half the length of the actual fic so I turned it into another drabble.

* * *

**Confession: Kurosaki Ichigo style…? Face the music by Kanon**

* * *

"…Uh…"

"Awake now, you nutcase?"

"Ah, man… My head's splitting into two…"

"It will be, pretty soon. For real."

"Huh?"

"Do you remember anything you did yesterday?"

"Uh, do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but then you should at least know why they are slicing you up."

"What the hell?!"

"Let's see. You went to Kuchiki taichou and told him his kenseikan looks like noodles stuck in his hair."

"Well, it does. Wait, I told him?!"

"Yeah, you said that right to Nii-sama's face. Then you snatched away the bells from Zaraki taichou's hair-"

"What?!"

"-and gave them to Yachiru who chomped on all of them. Yumichika and Ikkaku are hunting you down for some cleaning."

"You nearly crushed Soi Fon taichou in a hug. Oh, and you called Unohana taichou 'okasaan'." A moment of contemplation. "I guess she's the only one who's going to let you off."

"You've got to be kidding me. No way."

"The best's yet to come."

Ichigo blanched horribly; he could practically feel all the blood draining from his face.

"No."

"Yeah. You'll love it."

And Renji and Rukia grinned at each other in a perfect mirror-image, boasting 100 per cent synchronisation rate with a pure, unadulterated devil.

-x-

Matsumoto had resorted to the floor for support, keeling over in hysteric laughter as she slapped the polished surface. She had finally succeeded in relaying all the brilliance a certain teen had showered over the dull Seireitei and could now freely give into the cramping aches on her side. On the other side, her captain was not looking all too great, the white eyebrows knitted even tighter than usual while a faint tinge of rosiness fluttering over the cheeks but then her eyes were swimming with tears so they could have been playing tricks on her on the latter.

"This has got to be the most hilarious and best drinking habit _ever_!"

"That idiot's not going to survive a minute when he wakes up."

"Ara, taichou, are you worried?"

"Why the hell would I be worried about that twat?!"

The same grin that he had seen yesterday was now plastered over the face he had seen sloppy more often than not and unknowingly, he pulled away from the killer boobs that were suddenly dangling just an inch from his eyes.

"You say that, taichou, but have you not noticed?"

"…?"

-x-

"Now that I think about it, Hitsugaya taichou was the only one you got, uh, affectionate with."

"A…Affectionate?"

"Yeah. You kissed him. Right on mouth and all."

"…Right."

Countdown; three, two, one…

"…What?!"

"Yeah."

"…I kissed Toushiro."

"Smack on."

"I'm fucked."

Renji grinned till his face split in half. His friend looked whiter than the tuft of the one he had kissed yesterday.

"Royally. By the way, you said you confessed to him as well. I guess it won't be long before Soul Society becomes your permanent residence."

"I confessed to him when I was pissed out of my mind?! Shit, he's not going to believe me ever again!"

"What, you meant it?"

"Wh,what?! That… I, well, what… You see, I, it's…"

A mighty roar shook the walls at the time and even before the echo had started to bounce off the trembling structure, the hungover teen was already on his feet with unbelievable, lightening speed, jumping out of the window.

"Ichigo!! Let's fight!! I'll let you off the bells if you have eleven death matches with me!!"

Renji blinked when he looked outside for the back of the blur of black; sure, he had had adrink, one or two, last night, but he was certain that the sakura season was long over and surely, he could not be hallucinating _that_ huge bunch of sakura petals.

-x-

"Well, mission success."

"I'm not sure if we can call that a success. Ichigo confessed but now he's going to get killed. Literally."

The cobalt blue orbs looked at the crimson ones frowning slightly as if asking why he was mentioning something so glaringly obvious.

"Renji, I never said a word about health and safety when I talked about the plan."

"…Oh."

The grin that surfaced on Rukia's face that moment tortured Renji in his sleep for days and nights afterwards.


	21. 035Overdose:Never again

**Title**: Never again  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#035-Overdose)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: G  
**Rating**: Romance/Angst  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro, ?implied Kusaka Soujiro x Hitsugaya Toushiro?  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It is one thing he cannot bear to hear coming from Kurosaki Ichigo.  
**Spoilers**: Diamond Dust Rebellion  
**Warning**: I wrote it? A lot of repeats. Quite aimless. Lunatic fangirl's interpretation of this BL-laden film.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

Diamond Dust Rebellion is a wondrous thing and we IchiHitsu fans all agree. As for the lines, I used the Dattebayo subs even if I would translate it differently.

* * *

**Never again by Kanon**

* * *

"How's this guy Kusaka important?"

"!!"

For a moment, the entire world and time stop around him. And for a moment, he truly wishes he is a deaf that no sound waves can pierce his eardrums and reach his brain. The pale blue cloth wrapped around his --his but _his_ and _theirs_-- zanpaktou's hilt feels damp in his hand that has tightly clutched it as if it is his last lifeline. His throat feels blocked without a tiniest space of mercy and his already strained lungs are on fire that tears his chest but the roaring pain does not feed on the fatal lack of oxygen.

The dawn is yet to grace the world and the air is serene and hushed. With the time too early for any of the inhabitants to be up and about, all that whirls around them is sheer silence. But for him, it is so thunderous that his illogical part wonders how on earth the other cannot hear it. The question rings in his ear, echoing itself over and over again as if his ear canal is a miles-deep cave with no obstacles to dissipate the maddening sound. There is no stopping the repeats in _that_ voice bouncing off the stunned darkness, every syllable prodding his frantic mind and adding its extra churn, until a new one smashes the Moebius strip.

"Who is he?"

The frosty air suddenly rushes into the deprived lungs and he almost chokes on nothing; and he hates himself for it. He hates how much _it_ can affect him. He does not want it to but it does and there is no helping it. If he could, if the time spared, he would have thrashed against the tidal waves of unexpected shock and-

-and the anger; the anger at himself for letting his failing body to follow his subconscious towards the untamed reiatsu after leaving the wrecked parade, the anger at himself for uttering what the substitute shinigami should not have heard, the anger at himself for failing to make a stealthier escape from the clinic -- the anger at himself for being so heavily stricken by the mere sound of _it_. He detests how easily it creeps into his crumbling ice fortress but he cannot help the reaction because he has not been ready to hear it so instead, with effort from his entire being, he settles for gulping down the suffocating lump caught in his throat. He knows the cloak hides the thick swallowing just like how it hides the still bleeding wound and takes another veiled mouthful of the coldness hastily and desperately but so painfully as if the intake scorches his inside before narrowing his eyes as he should be doing, because he must leave; leave Kurosaki clinic, leave Karakura village, leave Soul Society, leave Gotei 13, leave his captaincy -- leave Kurosaki Ichigo.

His perforated gut hurts no longer.

But his frantically thumping heart does.

"The person who attacked you, the person who stole the King's Seal, was it this Kusaka guy?"

It comes again --was it just a wishful imagination of his if he thought he had heard a tone of worried, vengeful ire in the question?-- and he grits his teeth hard, harder than he has ever had in his long afterlife, because if he does not, he is going to shout out something that he knows he will regret. It is a precarious, unstable barrier, his tightly pressed lips; the words of urgency hang just at the tip of his tongue.

_Don't say _his_ name in _your_ voice._

Because the one word, the one _name_, that the other so casually voices is one old but cruelly re-opened wound rawer than the puncture in his stomach that is throwing up crimson liquid, and he is not yet ready to hear _that_ name in _that_ voice; anyone but _him_.

So he quietly utters, promptly and swiftly, loud enough for the other to hear, quiet enough for him to hide the trembling.

"That's the name of a man who was killed long ago." _And _please_, don't say his name; never again, not with your voice. _

Because it is so wrong; so wrong for so many reasons. This is not how the name of Kusaka Soujiro should have entered their lives, when everything between them is still so tender and fragile, a defenceless newborn with untainted, sparkling eyes that have just started shining with coy happiness. This is not how the name should have come into the other's acknowledgement, in a broken whisper murmured while in a darkening limbo between pain and confusion. This is not how he should be hearing that name tumbling out of the other's lips; not when he is tittering on the edge of consciousness from the injury inflicted by _Kusaka_ and is about to cross his blade with _Kurosaki_ to finish everything _by himself_.

This is all so wrong and the helpless disintegration of his everything --because he is leaving and because he is not going to be able to come back; to his division, to Kurosaki-- almost makes his eyes swim with what he dares not shed. The chill of the winter night dries off the moisture that do not flow from the orbs fiercely looking at the empty air just next to the orange tuft, a speck of colour in the dreary darkness.

Quickly, quickly, quickly; he needs to get out quickly and so, he does not linger any longer. The short moment of delay is not to be labelled as wasting because since the ice received the chance to glimmer under the black moonlight, he has never once thought of their time as squandering, but it does not change the fact that he needs to depart, now more than ever.

Before he hears the name again coming from _him_.

Something else is muttered but he does not hear it. He knows that it is not what he refuses to hear and that is good enough. But the next one does not miss him.

"Toushiro!!"

Something of relief and bitter derisiveness burst through him as he almost smiles at the familiar syllables perturbing the tense tranquillity violently; he has never been so glad to hear that particular name and probably never will be.

And as he grabs and swings his zanpaktou around, he inwardly, secretly, desperately wishes that he could hear it just a few more times.

Just enough to erase out _that_ name resonating endlessly in his mind in _that_ voice.


	22. 039Mask:What it says

**Title**: What it says  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#039-Mask)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Everyone feels something at any given time and everyone hides something at any given time. The only difference is by how much.  
**Spoilers**: Diamond Dust Rebellion  
**Warning**: Object of the fic gone MIA halfway through. Lunatic fangirl's interpretation of this BL-laden film.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I don't know what I was trying to write about. sweat The last line was a bit abrupt. orz

* * *

**What it says by Kanon**

* * *

Everyone feels _something_ at any given time; perhaps to a different degree, but they are never without one even if it is only the simplest form of boredom. And it is none other than the face of a person that the emotion is most starkly presented because the eyes are the windows of the mind and the lips curve at millions of different angles accordingly.

Everyone hides something at any given time; perhaps to a different degree, but they never show their vulnerable inner self without a single protective veil to the world, consciously or not. And the best mean of reservation is none other than the face of a person because those who see the expression on it _believe_ what they see; after all, it is the same visage that is supposedly the reflection of one's self. Therefore, the eyes wear a mystifying set of lenses to allure the onlookers into believing the smile or the frown and the lips curve at the opposite angle of their innate nature to fool the others into believing the smirk or the glower. Lady Truth sits behind the black curtain of articulate masquerade, perfectly content --or perhaps not-- in the solitude, safe haven. Sometimes, she is close enough to see the other side of the veil she did not know it had been there; sometimes, countless drapes, one blacker and thicker than before, separate the fragile lady from the eyes of the others, under her order.

And it was when their blades clashed that each of them understood on which side of the spectrum they stood.

-x-

It was a split second decision. He had made many choices before in time just long enough for one to blink an eye; they had saved many lives and led many missions seemingly falling apart to success that everyone had thought impossible. However, it was rare for lament or remorse to follow them in their tow; even rarer for the two to go hand in hand. But as he lifted his zanpaktou and let it crash down against the broad blade, the feral spark reflected in both the turquoise and brown eyes, something invisible punched his gut _hard_.

He wondered if his own face was as an open book as Kurosaki's was at the moment and fervently wished it was not, because a surging storm of sad regret and stinging guilt was apathetically tearing through the barren land of ice inside him, upturning the frozen turf like a savage lion cruelly tearing the flesh of its hunt.

And he wondered if the face of shocked betrayal that Kuorsaki was wearing now was what had been on his own face all those years ago when the two blades of twin zanpaktous had clashed.

And he wondered, sending Kurosaki flying away from him, if Kusaka had seen it before the glint of the glacial dragon blinded their eyes and the mighty roar deafened their ears-

-if Kusaka had felt what he was feeling now.

-x-

He remembered the face; the way the white eyebrows were angled at, the way the teal orbs automatically pulled down invisible veils over their transparency, the way the pale lips were tightly pursed. It was a face that he and everyone had seen all too often from the small shinigami who was always too busy keeping up that infallible mask of his.

He remembered wondering how on earth the brat could be so unaffected by this incomprehensible turn of events. He remembered his own visage betraying the annoyance at the silent shinigami easier than snapping his fingers, his eyes twitching and his mouth hanging open. He remembered a vein threatening to pop at the cynical scoff and he remembered the worry that flooded him when the stubborn dragon doubled over in pain in his bed.

And he remembered how the creased face never shed of that same indifferent expression throughout it all.

And now, even as he crashes into hard ground and summons his reiatsu to defend against the relentless assaults of fire and thunder, he remembers the momentary breakdown of the ice, the anguish and desperation exploding vividly in that split second.

The silent pleads of the teal eyes are imprinted sharply in his blood-laden vision and it kicks him hard in his gut.

He _knows_ that look.

His mind is like a broken video player, stuck on that one scene that replays over and over again, the buzzing audio broken and scratchy. He remembers the clouded, lost eyes and the bruises on the thinned lower lip of a young orange-haired child; and wonders.

He wonders if the pain he inflicted on his family with the same look on that face inches from his was as stabbing as what he experiences now and fervently wishes that had not been the case because he cannot find a word that would do the agony any justice.

In a desperate attempt to hold down the errand shinigami, he calls out the name the other hates so much. It stills the small figure at least temporarily and he wonders if he is wearing the same saddened expression that his father wore all those years ago when he stretched out his large, welcoming hand to his younger self.

And when the white tuft vanishes from his view and the sweeping darkness finally overwhelms him, he wonders in the last few seconds of his wakefulness, if those tearlessly crying emerald eyes have caught what he frantically tried to deliver with all the earnest flooding his face.

_Share it with me. Don't suffer all by yourself. You're not alone. _

_I'm here. _

_I'm always here. _

_I will always be here. _

_Always, for you. _


	23. 049Listen:I beg of you

**Title**: I beg of you  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#049-Listen)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: There was only one thing he wished for.  
**Spoilers**: Diamond Dust Rebellion  
**Warning**: Lunatic fangirl's interpretation of this BL-laden film. Everything is ending really abruptly now.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

This did not happen in the original movie but hey, we can all dream.

* * *

**I beg of you by Kanon**

* * *

Dusted streams of crimson blood crawled down the temple, a quiet plop punctuating the sluggish fall of each rivulet to the mess of cracked asphalts, grey grits and scarlet fluid filling the rifts that stretched out in every direction like a spider with too many legs. A fine layer of dirt coated the bright tuft that should vibrantly stand out against the dull, acrid ashes and Zangetsu laid useless at the side, the end of the white bandage on the brink of imminent assault from the fluid that was still so warm.

The polluted air was still full of reminders of the short but intense explosions and it was an instinctive reaction to the tainted wind whipping against them that the sorrowful emerald eyes hid behind the fluttering eyelids despite the wish to burn the presented image into his mind.

This unconscious, pained, bleeding form of Kurosaki Ichigo was quite possibly, and had to be, the last of the insistent and caring dolt he got to see.

Cautiously, almost as if frightened, the dainty feet treaded the damaged ground in tiny little baby-steps, one by one, towards the still figure lying prone. The debris of the blasts from fire and thunder splintered loudly under the pressure in the silence of early winter morning, fragile lumps pulverised to crumbs. The Karakura villagers would be left stumped as to what had happened here, seemingly hit by an invisible meteor over the night, unknown to all.

The coarse material of the tattered cloak bristled noisily with every step he took and in an unnecessary and useless effort to quieten it, a small hand grabbed the fluttering hem and pulled it tighter around the small and battered body hidden beneath it.

The sound, not unlike that of autumn when the dried leaves are helplessly toiled in the wind and trodden without a thought, softly rustled the hushed air then ceased. Just a few more steps, no, just three more of those miniscule steps; that was all the distance that was left between him and Kurosaki and that was where Hitsugaya stood, neither moving forward nor backward.

The teal eyes swam with something too complicated to be simmered down to one single word and the lips, pale and abused, became the victim of the perfectly lined teeth once more. Had it been right for him to come back; to here, to Ichigo? The answer had been out of his reach and despite the physical distance that had become infinitesimal, it remained just as far out as it had been when the invisible tug at his chest brought him to a stop not before long since deserting the same substitute shinigami he had returned to. And seeing the orange-haired teen, out cold on the merciless asphalt and lone in the emptiness of the dawn, did not help the vortex of confusion; the full-out blizzard had turned his inner world of ice into what looked more like the deepest abyss of the darkest realm than a mere barrenness of glacial.

Every breath he took smelt and tasted of the taut tension and desperation and the bitterness upturned his stomach. The white eyebrows, wet with strained perspiration, knitted tightly but the emerald gaze stayed rooted on the unconscious teen that had so fervently tried to stop him; not from leaving him, not from hiding from Soul Society, but from isolating himself away.

He had read the substitute shinigami's unspoken words; it was just impossible to accept them. This was his fight.

Slowly, a petite hand slipped out of the frayed cloak and inched through the cold crispness of winter dawn towards the short spikes but it halted in midair almost immediately, hovering in nothingness. He would have scoffed if he did not have to clench teeth; his hand, faintly trembling with something that was not from the heavy loss of blood, looked so forlorn and pitiful, grasping nothing but air as it did not manage to catch its aim in time. Yet what he wanted was just a few inches away, not moving, not even twitching. All he had to do was let his arm extend just by that much but he could not, just like the last three small steps he was not taking against the raw fire of _need_ burning him inside out.

Instead, he sunk down to his knees, the orange mane and the bleeding face all within his reach but out of his grasp. The snow-crowned head hung low like a defeated soldier and the half-lidded turquoise eyes did not dare look at the comatose teen. Only the harsh, ragged puffs rippled the silence with their feeble mists, sometimes joined by the rattling of his zanpaktou at his side.

He had to leave. Yet he could not. Not with the stubborn strawberry chaining his heart and body down.

But he had to.

The cracked lips parted open and inhaled the distasteful air as much as the lungs could take, followed by an exhale just as long. Once more, the hand started to creep towards its original destination again and this time, it got as far as just a millimetre above the ends of the dusted spikes. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from Kurosaki on his outstretched palm.

It never descended to touch the orange locks.

Quietly, his voice nothing but hoarse grating of tired vocal cord, he whispered; or that was at least what he had attempted to do. The moment he opened his mouth, he found himself lost as to what to say. What was he supposed to say? Goodbye? Sorry? Forgive me?

With a choked sigh, he dragged himself back to his feet, the hand that had floated above the teen now curled into a tight fist as if not to lose a single shred of the heat dissipating into frigid air. He did not want forgiveness; he did not deserve it. There was nothing he was in a position to hope for from the substitute shinigami but one.

The faint wistfulness in the teal orbs gave way to resigned desolation when he felt the frail remnant of the warmth withering away in his frigid fist, pressed hard against just above his painfully thumping heart.

It was time to leave.

So with the last flicker of his pleading gaze, he turned with a whirl of the browned cloak, resolutely grasping the hilt of his zanpaktou. The woeful but determined eyes scanned the gloomy expanse of dark clouds before casting a sidelong glance at the still figure on the ground for the last time.

"…Kurosaki. Don't follow me. Don't put yourself against Gotei 13 for me."

_This is the last time we meet, Ichigo._

_Sayonara._

But perhaps, somewhere at the back of his mind, he already knew the answer to his plea.


	24. 020Possession:Stake your claim

**Title**: Stake your claim  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#020-Writer's choice, Possession)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: G  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It is a foreign existence in his room. It is a foreign existence in this realm. Yet it is there, neatly folded, every line immaculate and _there_ on his desk.  
**Spoilers**: Diamond Dust Rebellion  
**Warning**: Short. The power of the imagination of an obsessive fangirl. Draft.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

This wasn't what I was trying to write, I think. tilts head And I'm sorry it's only a draft but I doubt I'd work any more on it since I've now gone back to Orderly Madness.

* * *

**Stake your claim by Kanon**

* * *

A white haori. It is a foreign existence in his room. It is a foreign existence in this realm. Yet it is there, neatly folded, every line immaculate and _there_ on his desk.

The brown eyes, fiercely burning and bleeding of acrid sadness, stare at the garment, its bleached purity stark against the rough, scratched surface of his desk. Ichigo dares not touch it. Until its rightful owner comes back to stake his claim, he does not think he can even bare a briefest slide of the soft cotton against his skin. Budging it out of his view is out of question to begin with, even if the black division insignia is seemingly scorching his eyes.

His fingertips hover barely above the clothes, the gap only just enough for a piece of washi paper to slip through. He can almost feel it without having to close the miniscule space; his sensors remember it all too clearly, how it had sleekly slipped out of his hands once he had lifted it off from the lithe body along with the weight the simple garment carried. The imaginary sensation is so tempting and damn elusive.

The orange eyebrows furrow in unhidden displeasure. What is on his desk is a presence instead of a mere haori; a cold, solitary abandonment. No, it is still the haori that his eyes perceive but it is no ordinary garment, for it had been inseparable from the prodigy lavishly praised yet obviously lacking a very important lesson that nobody seems to have bothered to teach him because the entre goddamn Seireitei assumes their miraculous tendo simply knows everything.

The cross-shaped kanji stares back at him, unfazed and indifferent, and Ichigo nearly grasps and crumples the cursed clothes with not a care for the lush fabric. The letter is a part of the haori, a symbol of its standing amidst of thirteen; a part of a group.

For the first time, Ichigo thinks that Hitsugaya Toushiro does not deserve this token of authority; the supposedly-all-knowing idiot evidently does not understand what he has been wearing for a length of time that a teenager like him cannot fathom.

A litany of swear words escape the downpulled lips and a fist connects with the shiny desktop just next to the folded haori hard enough for the furniture to tremble and rattle loudly under the pressure. _This is ridiculous_, he thinks to himself, uncurling his fingers and venturing out yet failing to actually come in contact with the deserted reminder of who had been in this room last night. An irate groan rips through his throat and he wonders if he should just resign to the fact that he is not going to be able to touch the thing before it is donned again by the genius blockhead.

"That's it." He growls and the two shinigamis who have been quietly watching the entire scene blink in confusion at each other.

"_I'll take it back."_, he had said. There is nothing that could even remotely be described as softness in the hazelnut eyes as the callused hand twitches once above the clothes before finally, snatching it away from his desk. The white fabric smoothly flows like water down its stream and with a resolute gaze at the feather-like swaying of the tail of the haori, his fingers tightened around it.

If the stupid dragon has gone to take back whatever it was, leaving this damn thing behind, then all he had to do was take back Hitsugaya Toushiro.


	25. 007Bitter:Illicit love

**Title**: Illicit love  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#007-Bitter)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: Whatever Ichigo had expected from Toushiro after the Kasumi-Ouji fiasco, it was definitely not this.  
**Spoilers**: Based on Ep185 but takes place after the end of the filler.  
**Warning**: Royally sucky, abruptly fluffy ending because I excel in the shitty stuff. Possibly OOC-Hitsugaya at the end. Draft.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

I had started this scene not long after Ep185 but it was left abandoned until now. And now, I don't know what the hell I'm blabbing on about. Apology in advance for the shit ending. I've been working on _Orderly Madness_ but thought I'd write a scene since my last one was almost a month ago. Stopping in the middle of an oneshot is never a good idea. *goes emo in a corner*

Don't ask about the title. I couldn't come up with any so I yanked one from Vidoll's songs. *runs away*

* * *

**:::::Illicit love by Kanon:::::**

* * *

"…"

Ichigo swore that if the damn silence lasted any longer, he was going to break something in the office or at least scream loud enough for the entire division to hear him out of frustration. The Kasumi-Ouji family's treason was finally brought down to a close with the entire Gotei 13 raiding the grand mansion and Luluchiyo was now reinstated as the rightful head of the clan, Shuu all too happy to hand over the title. Any past commotions Ichigo and the others had caused with regards to the incident were expectedly forgiven and Rukia was even spared of silent but nevertheless imposing rebuke from her austere step-brother.

However, for him, things were apparently far from over.

"What the hell are you pissed off at me for?"

The wintry sea-green orbs that had been completely ignoring the teen shot up from the paper they had been glued on and flashed dangerously in a manner that promised a lengthy stay in a watertight glacial prison. However, much to Ichigo's irritation, and this was new because he always preferred staying outside of Hyourinmaru's manifestation, the captain merely returned his attention to his work without a word. It was enough to bring out an irate snarl out of the substitute shinigami who was fast losing what little patience he had left.

"Toushiro, stop ignoring me! You've been like this since that time at the gate of Luluchiyo's place. I felt it there, you were about to explode on me already. What the hell, Toushiro? You weren't even going to hear me out! Did you think-"

A burst of icy reiatsu, unadulterated and ferocious as if facing an enemy, instantly shut the shocked teen up but in a blink of an eye, it was gone, pulled tightly back by the skilful owner. Completely thrown off his feet by the prodigy's evident fury he had not imagined nor did he think he deserved, Ichigo gritted his teeth and fisted his hands; sure he had caused some major uproar that apparently had the entire Gotei 13 fighting against each other at some point but there had been a valid reason and moreover, it was not his fault that the divisions had fallen into disarray. It was so unlike his clever little dragon to be still vexed with him; hell, it was unlike his Toushiro to be silently pulsing with concealed resentment at the Kasumi-Ouji mansion in the first place. If anyone was to catch the whiff of the foul plan in the air, it would certainly have been his lover blessed with the famous intelligence and the sharp intuition. Something had obviously ignited the frosty wrath of the mighty dragon; only if he knew what it was, hopefully, before his impulsive temper got the better of him.

"Toushiro. Speak. Now."

The low growling only led to another blaze of uncontrolled frigidness, just barley stopped before it ascended to a level that would alarm the unsuspecting shinigamis. The teal eyes were glowing dangerously and when the knife-like gaze turned towards him, Ichigo felt himself getting pinned down to his place with invisible force and his brain fell into a messy tornado of puzzlement with random frames of memories chucked in carelessly, the storm only worsened by the alarming red seeping into his vision, because, what had he done to deserve this kind of treatment from someone who supposedly loved him yet would not even spare a minute to listen to him? Clearly, Toushiro believed that he was nothing but a reckless rule-breaker who took pleasure in raising mayhem. Still, he knew that the whole ruckus had placed his lover in a rather awkward position until the ugly truth had come out and so, he had come, ready to apologise, ready to forgive, ready to make up with a kiss.

He scoffed. That plan was now all but thrown out of window, far over the horizon.

"You dare take that kind of tone on me, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"Yes, I dare. Shouldn't I be the one pissed off here?"

The scrunched face of the young captain gained a hint of disbelieving incredulity but it was buried underneath the rage that had gone up a notch in every line and curve. The ear-splitting noise of the chair legs clawing the ligneous floor went unnoticed by the two furious occupants but the steadily escalating tension was now starting to trickle out of the office.

"You?"

"Your behaviour there told me everything I needed to know. What am I to you, a brainless git? What is up with you? You caught Aizen out fine. Why are you suddenly being a rule-bound thickhead like those dolts?!"

The clear emeralds narrowed down to slits, promising an explosion with a deafening bang. A part of Ichigo urgently whispered to him that this was the first serious argument between them since the new turnabout their friendship and comradeship took on and it dawned on him, perhaps a little belatedly, that the aftermath of the about-to-follow destruction could --more truthful to say 'would'-- cause a fair bit of trouble later.

However, it never came.

"…Do you honestly think our relationship is not frowned upon in Soul Society?"

The teen blinked at the unexpected question seemingly completely irrelevant to their current row. Then he almost flinched in the following silence; the foreboding swirling of the frosty presence had disappeared in some unknown moment and the abruptly subdued prodigy's turquoise eyes had gained a touch of cerulean tinge addled with what he could only discern to be bitterness churned with weariness.

"What?"

Ichigo glanced over his shoulder in confusion when he felt the more repressed tendrils of snowed winter gently probing around the area but all that he saw was the bleak brown door filling up his vision. With curiosity that had not quite lost all the hints of the previous anger, the teen shifted his gaze back to the unmoving captain who steadily met the stare and spoke in a dry, deadpan voice. For all he knew, Hitsugaya could have been talking about a nameless shinigami that had been involved in a typical drunk brawl on a weekend night with the same old exasperation.

"You. Me. Us. Two guys. A shinigami taichou and a human ryoka. It does not make a good picture."

"What…?"

"Why did I not hear you out?" Hitsugaya scoffed derisively, flopping back down into his seat and crossing his arms. "I could have, Kurosaki. I _would_ have. You were tricked by Amagai too but you were certainly right that something was going on with the Kasumi-Ouji family. And I know that it was because you are not tied down with the regulations of Gotei 13 that the two bodyguards of the young clan head sought you instead."

The perplexity continued to grow with every word that left the prodigy and Ichigo blinked with a frown. "Then why-"

"And all of this could have been a mere problem of trust between us had you come to me the moment the trouble reared its head but you tumbled the whole thing down the hill when you failed to do so. Why didn't you, Kurosaki? You say that I obviously think of you as a trouble-maker ryoka. Wasn't it you who first saw me as Gotei 13? It was you who first pushed me aside, Kurosaki. It was _you_ who gave me no choice but be a goddamn rule-bound thickhead as you put it because that is what keeps us together in this realm without any problems. It is because I continue to follow the proper path of a taichou of Gotei 13 that they do not have a say in what I do in my personal life even if my lover happen to be at the centre of every single chaos."

"Hey, it's not my fault that-!"

The irritated retort was quickly cut down by another wry snort from Hitsugaya and Ichigo knitted his eyebrows but remained silent. The small face that was surprisingly expressive around him was starting to show signs of something he had not wanted to see; hurtful wounds from betrayal -- by none other than himself.

"Does it matter? Trouble seems to have a way of finding you and it is a lie if I say Gotei 13 is not worried about the tendency. So give me a break, Kurosaki, and at least give me leeway to help you without making it harder than it already is. In case you have not noticed, I'm your lover, if not, a nakama of a rank with a fair amount of resources at hands or at the very least, I will have more sensible ways to go about without turning the situation into an overwhelming snowball which is something you unfortunately excel in."

Another silence, this time, more cowed than before, filled the office. The brown eyes apparently unable to decide between shock, retaliating defence and apology, were fixed on the young captain sighing wearily with a exasperated frown as he leaned back in his chair.

"Is that true?"

There was no answer. Hitsugaya knew what the question was about; he simply did not want to talk about the subject any more even if he had brought it up. The white-toped head remained in its backwards inclination, the eyebrows firmly furrowed, the lips sealed tightly.

"How come I never heard anything until now?"

"…You are surrounded by your friends while here. I'm here every day and night and I have Matsumoto as my fukutaichou. I'm bound to hear things that you, or many others for that matter, don't hear. And I say this one more time but I'm taichou. You do not turn someone of such a rank into an obvious gossip topic no matter what your opinion may be, at least not outwardly. I did not tell you because regardless of the insignificant whispers, I would do my job; it would not change anything. And I trusted you to seek me before putting me in such a position."

Ichigo winced at the last line and even more at the blank expression he could just about see on the visage that still faced the ceiling in favour of the world around them. Everything that had pent up inside him since the brief encounter at the Kasumi-Ouji mansion was not even a memory anymore; they had disappeared like they had never existed in the first place.

The silence was thick like blood clotted but not quite fully and dripping down like syrup. The teal eyes remained dully staring at the tasteless ceiling; the hazel ones shifted from the still form of the prodigy appearing to be almost asleep, to the desk with papers scattered on them, to the tea table at the front, half of it occupied by even more papers, to Hyourinmaru whose hilt is visible above the desk next to the captain, then back to the boy, only to startle because the cold green gaze is now fixed on him.

"…I'm sorry."

The baritone voice that followed was quieter than usual, a little more tired than usual, a little more exasperated than usual, and perhaps, a little more needy than usual.

"Apology accepted. Now, get over here."

The small hand roughly pointed the empty space next to the captain and Ichigo cocked his head for a moment before obediently followed the order. It had been long since the last time they had properly spent time together and although there was a mess that he needed to sort out in his head, having Toushiro in his arms while doing so was not a bad idea at all. It would at least keep the direction of his thoughts in check.

The turquoise eyes glared at the teen with the remnants of the aggravated ire when he came to a stop at where Hitsugaya had wanted him but before Ichigo could say anything, the captain had already toppled into his arms that had automatically come up to securely wrap around the slumped shoulders.

"Eh, Toushiro?!"

"I'm tired."

Ichigo lifted an eyebrow but soon understanding lit up the hazels with a hint of guilt. The prodigy must have been restraining the anger and the mental wounds the whole time and keeping the grand amount of reiatsu firmly coiled within in such psychological state was not the easiest task even for someone with decades of experience. And after hearing what he had just heard, he was not going to complain about being a human pillar but-

"O-Okay… but the coach would be more…"

"You're going to be my pillow."

"I'll be your pillow over…"

"It's your punishment. You're going to be my pillow right here until I wake up."

"But Tou-"

"Shut up. A pillow doesn't talk."

"…Toushiro…"

"Promise."

"Huh?"

The muffled voice continued to grow more and more distant but no words were slurred and somehow, without having to pull away to check, the teen knew the captain was more awake than his voice let on.

"You never do this to _me_ again. If there is a problem, you come to me. Don't just call me Toushiro. See me as Toushiro. And if needs be-"

The brown eyes widened, an unusual spark of something like premonition letting him know where this was going.

"Tou-"

"And if needs be, I go with you and we face whatever that may come afterwards together, not against each other."

"…Tou…"

"Don't make me bear my blade against my precious someone again. I know you. I _trust_ you."

"!"

"Now shut up."

"Tou-"

"Shut. Up."

Ichigo was sorely tempted to remember the last time he had managed to speak in a full sentence but the desire to squeeze the bundle in his arms hard easily came over the cynical and useless wish. And so, without a word, he gently placed his chin on the pristine spikes, snaked his arms around the lean body as far as possible, and hunched over, engulfing the small shinigami completely. A soft sigh fluttered about at his chest, followed by a little snuggling, then all the movement ceased save the warm air tickling his skin.

He knew that they had a lot of things to talk about once Toushiro woke up; and he knew that the prodigy was aware of it too. However for now, his fatigued dragon wished to enjoy uninterrupted slumber in warm darkness that only he could provide even after the mayhem he had resulted in and it was the least he could do to make up for the stupid mistake he had made.

The lack of any sound was like a surreal lullaby, the hush soft, gentle and mellow. The cool breezes that wafted in and out at immeasurable intervals were like adoring caresses of a loving mother on the skin. The Sun had traded its blinding radiance for the pastel orange glow, congratulating the shinigamis for their hard work at the end of the day with its picturesque view. And when the small hands that had been entwined in his shihakushou finally lost their grip and fell limp, the teen picked up the sleeping boy with great care as if handling a fragile glass doll then strode over to the plush couch. The red velvet cushion sank to mould into the shape of the weight and with a small sigh, Ichigo placed his lover on his lap, cradling the warm heat that now leaned on his chest more comfortably. It seemed that Toushiro was out cold and knitting his eyebrows, Ichigo brushed the white bang out of the eyes; with the injuries he had received from the battle with Amagai, he had been half-forcibly detained in the relief station by Unohana for nearly a week. And the whole time, Hitsugaya would have been battling to deal with the life that continued as usual despite the blizzard inside; he wondered if the over-stressed dragon had managed to get any decent sleep in the past few days.

The chocolate eyes glided down from the white tuft to the serene face, their final destination the slightly parted lips. Was there anything else he had done unknowingly that had inflicted the captain in some way? Most likely there was. He knew what he had to do once he had coaxed everything out of Toushiro; his friends were going to be the next to be interrogated.

A soft groan with a little turn snapped his attention back to the weight resting on him and Ichigo quickly rubbed the small of the back, sending his lover back to the dreamland. The minute crease in the forehead smoothed out as if the callused palm was massaging there instead of the back and when he was sure the captain was back to the deep lightless abyss, Ichigo chastely pressed his lips on the temple and whispered, the murmured words almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry… and thank you."

_And I love you._

But he would say those words later when he would get to see the porcelain cheeks lighting up, the emeralds glaring but unable to hide the streak of shy happiness.

He owed his lover at least that much and the three words were too precious to be wasted on deaf ears.

* * *

I told you I don't know what I'm on about… orz


	26. 011Escape:Scratch the sky

**Title**: Scratch the sky  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#011-Escape)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: General/A light sprinkle of romance  
**Rating**: PG-15  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Distribution**: Fanfiction and LJ  
**Summary**: It seemed impossible and only more tattered did he become. And on the brink of the end, the moment came.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Beating crap out of strawberry. Shitty language, no thanks to NaNoWriMo. Che. F-word here and there.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-IchiHitsu-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Author's Note**:

Had hell of problem with the title. Still not happy. Don't know where this is going.

Expect an update on _Orderly Madness_ soon.

* * *

**Scratch the sky by Kanon**

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**

It shines in the sky, proudly, majestically, like a god; lone and bright, lighting up the world it reigns over. It is so tantalisingly close yet so far and out of reach, the blinding brilliance thwarted from his eyes by the flock - packs, hordes, whatever - of whites and greens and browns and blues, all sorts of shapes and sizes. Unearthly screeches fill his ears as the glinting blade draws a fatally beautiful death arc. The momentary tear in the thick waves gives him a teasing taste of warmth as the magnificent rays pour into the midair fortress he is held captive in. _There!_, he cries and stretches his hand out, desperate from the suffocation closing in on his neck from the impenetrable walls of black around him. The sweaty fingers, trembling from the lengthy strain, long to grasp the burning fire. The exhausted feet sluggishly and frantically shuffle forward towards the light that is so powerful that it is glaring on his eyes, only to have it robbed away once more as more Hollows block his path.

It is broad daylight and he is standing in the middle of the sky, so much closer to the flaming planet than any other humans on earth, yet the stunning illumination is still too distant. Hollows, the sheer number safe to be called limitless, stretch over the horizon in front of him and there is no end to the continuous strikes and stabs, the slim, midnight blade shimmering in a way that only the absolute black can, reflecting the shine that the wielder cannot see.

He does not think about where all these damned things have appeared from nor why; there is no time to spare on any mental tasks if he is to dash through this imminent darkness and reach the end, standing on his feet. The prize of success is the scorching and blinding glow, the penalty of failure, nothing but death. The cognitive function comes to a full stop and the instinct to fight and survive takes a complete control over his body when a massive, bulky arm - arm, leg, it is always a bit harder to tell when the fucking thing is four-le… oh, it's a leg - threatens to crush him like a bug. A swift shunpo just in time prevents the ugly end but the only difference it made for him is that now, getting skewered is apparently the next on the list as a sharp, white horn, greyed by the shadows looming over them, is about to ram through his back. He has barely enough time to suck in a quick breath and only the angry hardness of his sturdy zanpaktou is there to save him, all but just by hair.

Heated friction burns the flats of his feet from the scratchy slide against the invisible footing beneath them. A bead of sweat hangs precariously on the end of his eyelashes then plummets to a distance that is impossible to tell. A gust, tinted with menace and wafting of death, tears through his short spike as explosive leeches go out in deafening bangs all around him in mid-air, obscuring his already darkened vision. Dusts clog his parched throat and he nearly loses his grip on the sole defence he has when a bout of coughs assaults him in perfect timing with a full-throttle head-on crash, knocking what little air the deprived lungs have. The soaked hilt is rough on his palm and the skin is once more tattered as the blade bears the brunt of the attack.

And still, all he has is sickening, hateful darkness right underneath the flaming wagon of Apollo.

A scratchy scream claws at his ears from above and it becomes impossible to tell whether it is day or night as a menacing shadow towers over him. With a battle cry that overpowers the wretched sound from the accursed souls, he pours the remaining force into his tired muscles and the raven katana obeys to the twirl of the fingers, promptly flipping over. A blink later, the sharpened edge cuts through the hard skin. Blood splatters, revoltingly warm and thick on his face, but he cannot spare even to blink. Red, dark red seeps in, decorating the obsidian midnight of his own and he thinks -

_I need light. _

Respiration is arduous and painful; he is pretty sure at least one of his ribs is hazardously digging into his lung. He gasps, torturously, greedily, like a prey shot and uselessly revolting against the overwhelming feeling of death. Air is what he needs, a room to suck it in is what he needs, anything other than the obscene shadow is what he needs, and a litany of swear words attempts to leave the cracked lips when the irregular breathing catches in his throat, momentarily chocking him.

He cannot remember how long he has been buried deep in this swamp of Hollows - and Arrancars, he hastily adds on as a dangerous glint swipes past him less than an inch away - nor does he care. Mundane curiosity kills the cat and he is a shinigami - substitute or not - whose duty is to purify these tainted souls.

Fuck, who the hell is he kidding, his primal duty is to fucking survive this goddamn hell on earth, literally.

Dampness haunts the black garments cladding him, the wide sleeves clinging onto his arms like rain forest's carnivorous vines on its prey, languidly, leisurely but with no escape. They need to be ripped off because it is slowing down the horizontal swing meant for about nine, ten, thirteen, however many Hollows that have jumped onto his side but there is just no fucking time because the damn sleeves will never be worth his life. He is not thinking about what direction to slice or which one the target is; there are targets everywhere and every mindless jab skewers more than he cares to count. A kick to the right is like a tiny push at the first block of domino and he is no fool to waste this precious advantage. The grip tightens, the muscles tense, and the sinister midnight blade slashes air. Even in the obscurity cast like inescapable storm over him, the ebony crescent stands out stark like a smirk of devil promising certain demise.

Then it is there. Light, the Sun, the exit; it promises him that there _is_ an end to this seemingly eternal dogfight but only if he is still standing at the end. He flashes a tired - exhausted - but challenging smirk. If there is anything he has never failed to do, it is exactly that; standing on his feet, tattered, bloodied, near-dead, but the last, proud winner.

The telltale fluorescent blue shimmers are like the summer festival fireworks, bursting into its life shorter than a blink of an eye and then dissipating into thin air but none of them bears any witness. The feral hazels are too engrossed in flying across the nebulous pandemonium and -

Suddenly, everything is snatched away and the world tilts on its axis, spinning out of control. The boundless black shadow is getting further away faster than he ever thought possible until the very present and the mach speed makes the air harder than concrete; it is brutal against his arched back. By the time he realises this is not one of those great Hollywood style rescue falls, his spine has snapped at the solid collision on -

White hot pain is all he can acknowledge, erupting like furious magma all over his body. It does not even feel like his body anymore and in the agonising excruciation, he cannot tell what makes it up, let alone send coherent message to the limbs that are, simply, _broken_. The mouth opens wide to let out a raw howl but all it manages to make is a chocked gurgle and only then does he realise - vaguely, because he cannot tell if he is even alive in this fucking pain - that something big, powerful and unrelenting is on his neck, that his powerless fingers are scratching it but to no avail, and perhaps most importantly, he is under fucking _water_.

Sheer panic overwhelms him and the burst of adrenaline gives him enough of sanity - or insanity - to open his eyes. The first thing he sees is starry glimmer; the surface of water, violently rippling and reflecting the rays of sunlight to every direction in every curve. The world looks more like a collection of experiments-gone-wrong specimens, distorted by the fluid filling up his lungs. Red alarm is going off louder than ever and he knows he has to get out but he is now nothing more than assemblage of splintered bones and torn muscles.

The grip on his neck tightens - that Hollow is either suicidal or can breathe under the water - and the dulling brown eyes wistfully watch the bubbles of air floating up like a flock of free-flying birds to the surface. The clear blue sky feels like mocking him, taunting him as if it knows exactly how unreachable it is, and right in the middle, not far from the clump of black, shines on the Sun, detachedly and indifferently.

The vision is blurring. Water is rushing in to claim its powerless prey and gives him a taste of its true capability, clogging up the lungs. His heart has gone berserk and thrashing in frenzy against the bruised ribs. His ears ring with the sound of blood rushing through the veins.

And all he can do is stare up at the warped world, no strength even for a feeble cough left, let alone kicking himself out of the fuzzy black seeping into his vision.

Everything starts to slow down; and he learns what a swift process death is. The heartbeat is dropping, the eyelids fluttering shut. Unbefitting peace sweeps through him, numbing the battered body of pain and distress, and at the back of his hazy mind, he wonders if it is the last mercy bestowed upon him because, let's be honest, he fucking deserves a small token of gratitude for his lifelong - short but that _was_ his entire life - service for the dead.

The water shakes wildly once more around him and in the last minute of his consciousness, he has just enough alertness to cringe at what a ragdoll he seems to have become, swaying to the current like kelps. Somewhere in the far distance, he thinks he has just hallucinated a loud splash but any length of coherent thinking is no longer possible. The brain has been deprived of oxygen for too long. Like a slow motion film, he can feel his breathing stuttering to a halt, his consciousness drifting away. Faintly, he wishes he had one last chance to imprint that brilliant blue canvas, unhindered by anything, and the proud flame recumbent in its throne.

Then suddenly, something changes. In the limbo he is caught in between, he cannot tell what, but there is a sensation that he can only describe as resistance against his front and the howling pain it brings back to the tattered body snaps him back to as much conscious as the dying brain allows. The electric signals are shot faster than a machine gun from all over and he almost screams to just let him go when through the devastating agony, unforgiving coldness slips in, freezing the frayed nerves.

He realises there is something around his waist. The cruel fingers - he assumes that they were - that had gripped his neck have disappeared at some unknown moment. Then the shocking, unexpected realisation comes; he is being taken out of water just as fast as he had been plunged into it.

There is glacial strength grasping him and before his hazy mind can understand anything, the liquid constitution of his surroundings is swapped to that of air and a gasp echoes not far from him, immediately followed by -

"Kurosaki!!"

The urgent snarl is fuzzy to him at best as if muffled by a pair of earmuffs but nevertheless, it shoots through the blackness engulfing him and kicks his weary heart back into action. The iciness is continually threading in, blocking the paths for the pain signals and gluing back the splinters, and there is a quick fluttering of breaths on his face. Hard ground meets his back - he can only dimly assume that he is being laid down - and the coldness of it makes him jolt involuntarily.

"Kurosaki, wake up!"

_Air_, he blearily thinks, almost confusedly, and it takes a moment before he remembers that if he is to live, he needs to take the stuff in. But the respiratory organs are brimming with water and he cannot find enough strength within him to expel the homicidal fluid. The numb darkness is returning once more, crawling towards him cautiously but surely, vengeful at the near loss of its victim.

"Damnit, you will stop at nothing to drive me mad!"

He is now dazed and alone in the pitck-black nothingness but the irate growl resonates in the hollow area and he vaguely wonders why he thinks it is very uncharacteristic. It is nothing more than a merely drifting thought though and leaves him just as quick. Fatigue is eating away at his peripheries and he feels a guidance of unknown promising blissful rest; it is a hard offer to refuse.

Then the whole vacancy shakes like an earthquake. Every trembling brings about a new crack in the darkness and the pieces crumble. He panics. _No_, he frantically thinks; he does not want whatever this place is to disappear. It gently brushes away the exhaustion plaguing him and lulls him into serenity. He can no longer remember from where he came to here but something tells him it was nothing as pleasant as this.

The cracks grow and there is nothing he can do but watch it with trepidation, wondering what on earth will happen when the darkness is finally shattered. Through the gaps rushes in wintry wind, forcing its way into his lungs and quick, harsh pressure compresses his che-

The strings of perplexed thoughts come to a halt; into his _lungs_?

The shadow is pulverised and the strain that his body had been put through returns in full force, clumsily tensing the shredded muscles. The broken ribs are screaming as the sternum is forced down to press against the still heart in a brisk rhythm then something warm is clamped over his mouth. Another iced gust is blown into him then a well-placed thump knocks on his chest, and it is as if the ignition has at last clicked. The gag reflex bounces into action and oh god, the retching is far from pleasant but who is he to complain when the feeling of _life_ is rushing into his every cell?

His throat burns and his chest aches and he wonders if he has gone masochistic because it is fucking exhilarating. _Adrenaline overdose_, he detachedly thinks even in the midst of gagging and coughing and jerking, and it is only when the vomiting comes to a brief stop that the hand on his face are recognised, tilting him to the side so that he will not aspirate. The mushy organ in his skull is yet to find its proper position when another powerful slap square in the middle of his back rattles it within the bony case but before he can protest against it, another expulsion of lungful of water is in order.

It feels as if his own coughs are splitting his eardrums and as soon as the assault calms down, he flips back onto the freezing ground; he does not know on what he lies but it is oddly icy. Nevertheless, it is refreshing on the wet clothes so he does not mind. His emptied lungs beg for oxygen and the hyperventilation is simply not fast enough. The breathing gets out of control, hitched, irregular and painful, and the weak smirk that had graced the bleached face swiftly morphs into a contorted frown.

"Kurosaki, calm down. Take a deep breath."

The low voice is clipped but composed and the tone has something of authority that he cannot ignore even in the half-bemused state he is in. It is not easy to go against the desperate instinct but with time and determination, the rough respiration regains a touch of calm. An odd cough or two catches the huffing melody once in a while, sending harrowing jolts across the chest, but for some peculiar reason, he cannot hold back an exhausted laughter escaping him.

"What the hell are you laughing at? It was too close a shave!"

The angry growl is followed by a long, shaky sigh. The hazels, unfocused and blurry, creep open and curves into arches when they make out the pale blue canvas, the blinding light, and -

"…Toushiro."

White fluffs defy the gravity as usual and the piercing gleam sharpens the emeralds even more fierce than usual. The smile stretches wider and threatens to split the pale face into half. A light smack over the head with a scoff is the reply he gets. Well, and a few words spat out between gritted teeth.

"…Idiot. You, damn stupid idiot. Matsumoto's gone to get Inoue Orihime. And I'm going to kill you as soon as she patches you up."

He only chuckles, barely audible. His fingers crave to feel the softness of the snow but there is no strength left in him and moving the loosely held fragments of bones is easier said than done. Noticing the hint of disappointment in the foggy mocha eyes, his rescue leans closer carefully so that none of the precariously placed limbs are disturbed. When the quick examination reveals nothing discernible, a quiet whisper tickles his moist cheek.

"That is all I can do healing-wise, my reiatsu is not suitable for it. Hold on just for a little longer."

Barely hidden concern laces the softly muttered words and the corner of his lips twitch feebly, the eyelids fluttering shut. It does not matter how long he has to wait now. Cool wind caresses the weary muscles and lean fingers are gently laid on his forehead, the touch constant and firm. His shoulders ache, the shards of his ribs are digging in, he does not want to see what kind of state his back is in, and he thinks he cannot feel his legs.

But he cannot give any fuck about it.

Inoue is on her way. He knows he will be fine. There is ferocious iciness slumbering in its leash next to him. The warmth of white, sparkling snow rests on his head. The tendrils of the burning light stroke his wet skin and there is not a single shadow, he feels, hindering the rays.

He opens his eyes in narrow slits. The scenery that greets him is beautiful, he thinks; lightless blue spreads limitless and the Sun, the _Sun_, is there, finally, without any obstruction, happily blinding his eyes. Then a dollop of white and a mesmerising pair of teals, casting a totally different penumbra at the corner of his eyes.

A drained grin adorns his face.

Yup, he really cannot give any fuck about the shit state he is in because damn, he is finally out of the shithole.


	27. 012Rose:Many ways to say goodbye

**Title**: There are many ways to say goodbye  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt table No.2 (#012-Rose)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Summary**: *points to the title*  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: Implied character death. Unbeta'd.

-x-

**Author's Note**:

I realised it was nearing a month since I last wrote for 50scenes. And all the happy muses – actually, any muses I had – got assassinated within seconds when I was trying to think of something for this prompt. *shot* My first intention had been to write a drabble. Of course, I epic-failed. *shot again* And I'm in a bit of hurry _and_ half-asleep.

Sorry for the excuses. Let the random rambling begin.

* * *

**:::::There are many ways to say goodbye by Kanon:::::**

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**

"_Taichou, taichou! Look!"_

"_Now what, Matsumoto?!"_

"_Taichou, did you know that humans have this thing called floriography?" The glossy-papered magazine looked like a frantic bird trying to escape its captivity, the way Matsumoto wildly shook it around. "Apparently, each flower has a meaning and with roses, the meanings change, depending on the colour!"_

"_And why on earth would I want to know-"_

"_Listen, taichou! Well, red is easy enough, true love. Taichou, you should give one to Ichigo." The cheeky wink set off a flushed snarl._

"_Matsumoto!!" _

_Ignored._

"_And blue… Blue? Cool, they've got blue roses!"_

"_Matsu-"_

_Not listening; a tick was developing at the end of the white eyebrow. _

"_It means attaining the impossible. I think Ichigo deserves this one too, taichou. You're going to have to go for some flower shopping later." Matsumoto said quite seriously, her nose still buried in the magazine. Hitsugaya had never seen her so engrossed in anything. It brought an end to the eternal debate on Matsumoto Rangiku though; she was indeed capable of concentrating. She just chose not to. _

"_I do _not_ need to go to flower shopping!"_

_Read above; not listening. _

"_Yellow is friendship, jealousy or infidelity… A bit of range in the meanings with this one. Pink means grace, oh, that is so me! Right, taichou?"_

_Thick silence. Once more, Matsumoto chose not to acknowledge the thick cloud of doom rising behind her captain and continued. _

"_Orange means desire and passion. Figures. Look at Ichigo. Ooh, they've got a meaning for white roses as well, taichou!"_

"_I don't want to-"_

"_It means…" The silvery eyes widened for a moment then curved in exploding merriment. Hitsugaya knew this was bad news when the voice took a tone of swooning that suited a grandmother fussing over her grandchild, not a vice-captain feeding a captain non-work related – in other words, useless crap – information. "Taichou, white roses mean innocence, virtue, and purity!! How sweet!! I'll make sure Ichigo gets you some of them!"_

"_Matsumoto," Hitsugaya growled dangerously, the cheeks flushed either in anger or in embarrassment of the floriography of his supposedly counterpart in the world of damn roses, "I swear, you either trash that magazine and get back to your work right now or-"_

"_Eek." The woman was practically in her own world where Hitsugaya was apparently more or less a mute and instead, thrust the very same book to his scowling face. "Taichou, look. These roses are _black_. Why would you want black roses?" And before Hitsugaya could even blink and get his blurred focus back on the smudge of black, it was gone and Matsumoto was frowning, obviously quite miffed at the unexpected downfall in the romantic beauty of the floriography of roses. "Ichigo's surname is Kurosaki, isn't it?" The strawberry-blonde brows knitted further. "I think I'll stick with orange roses for him. As I thought, the floriography for black roses is not very attractive."_

"_Black or not, there will be no roses and-"_

"_Taichou," Matsumoto looked up, finally shutting the problematic book. "Black roses mean-"_

-x-

The wind grazes against his skin sharply and it feels more like a knife than flutter of air. The sub-zero temperature would have frozen the oozing blood had the cutting edge of the air slashed his cheek; not that he would have cared.

A thick layer of snow is draped across the entire town and perhaps the entire land of the country. The ice crystals shimmer in gentle yet imposing grace and beauty as if daring the onlookers to try poisoning this untouchable magnificence. The whole place has turned into a timeless jewel under the enchantment of winter. And on that very purity, his feet land with no hesitation or remorse, the sound of the footstep absorbed by the crushed softness and the iciness spreading out fast in the soaked tabis.

The whiteness stretches far beyond the horizon and its stark difference to the world, its indifference to the bloody and cruel calamity that is called the world they live in, makes him sick.

Rows of grey stones peek out like a sore thumb from the sudden white coat that has hidden the narrow paths between them. The area is empty save the slabs with fluffy frigidness sitting atop. He is not surprised; the only one suicidal enough to be out and about in this weather is the idiot that now lies beneath the frozen land.

The soundless, firm strides come to a halt in front of a particularly tall one somewhere in the middle of the row. The pale lips are tightly sealed. The unblinking eyes, colder than the snow-infested wind whirling around, stare hard at the stern object.

On the smooth surface, a black carving reads 'Kurosaki'.

The snow falls. The wind lashes at his frigid skin. The cotton tabis are soaked through and through. The hem of the haori flutters gently. Only the black sleeves outline him from the engulfing whiteness.

Still as a statue, he stands and stares.

The layer grows thicker and the ice crystals creep up his damp feet. The wind rustles the midnight garment breaking the uniform purity. The bleached tuft becomes indistinguishable from the fluff crystals gathering atop.

The silence continues.

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he bends down and with a bare hand, pallid and stiff, swats the little bump of snow in front of the slab away until a little table of matching grey smoothness reveals itself. The snow is indifferent to his effort and specks its new victim.

The blank eyes travel up to the tall stone and trail the first letter carved in.

He drops his gaze and reveals the other hand that had been hiding in the sleeve the whole time. Lightly held between the fingertips is a rose, its long, thin stem of fresh green and sharp thorns, its fragile petals –

Gently as not to destroy the delicate beauty, he places the single flower on the top. For a second, for a brief second, the fingertips caress the sleek stalk. Then the rose is left to the mercy of the cold snow that still fills the sky and after eyeing the lonely bloom, defenceless against the relentless crystals, he turns without a word.

The footprints that had mapped his trail are nowhere to be seen in the layer of white. And on that purity he walks once more, this time, away from the snow-covered cemetery.

Behind him, the winter fluff has already swallowed the sole offering.

-x-

With time comes spring and the warm sunshine drives away the last remnants of frost stubbornly clinging onto the land it had ruled for the past weeks. The dark asphalts lose the precarious sheet of ice. The icicles at the roofs shrink as they sweat until they can no longer hold on and fall to the ground, smashed to bits. The snowman bids an ugly goodbye, the button eyes and the carrot nose sliding down the sludgy mess.

In the empty cemetery, a single black rose decorates the bleak grey table, its freshness captured in surreal frostiness that even the rising temperature cannot thaw.

-x-

"_Ichigo's surname is Kurosaki, isn't it?" The strawberry-blonde brows knitted further. "I think I'll stick with orange roses for him. As I thought, the floriography for black roses is not very attractive."_

"_Black or not, there will be no roses and-"_

"_Taichou," Matsumoto looked up, finally shutting the problematic book. "Black roses mean farewell."_


	28. 001Hero:All hail the failed hero

**Title**: All hail the failed hero  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#001-Hero)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: General/Angst  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters**: Kurosaki Ichigo, Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Summary**: A hero may always triumph but a victor is not always a hero.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: WTF, IDK drabble

-x-

**Author's Note:**

I was bored in Obs & Gynae intro lecture. As usual, I took the morbid end of the stick, though I did not kill anyone.

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**:::::All hail the failed hero by Kanon:::::**

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_Hero: A person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life_

-x-

A hero is every kid's dream, be it becoming one or getting rescued by one. A hero is who turns up just in time and saves the day. A hero is someone who always strives to save the world with no concern for one's self. A hero is who never fails in the enduring task of rescuing just about everything that crawls and breathes on this land.

A hero was, for him, who walks away coolly with not a hair out of its place, flashing a perfect smile to those that had been _saved_.

-x-

"I'm no hero."

A lethal hum sings quietly from behind promptly just as the apathetically mumbled words come to a clipped end, aimed at no one in particular. Hyourinmaru slashes the void, deadened air once more, ridding itself of the crimson blood soaking the blade; the liquid has started to dry into crusts and cling onto the sharp metal but the firm swing is merciless.

Silence once more falls between them. Hyourinmaru returns to its resting place; Zangetsu remains in its battle position.

"No, you are not."

The confirmation is swift, the voice impassive. The chain at the end of the black zanpaktou jingles from the wince jerking the wielder.

The revolting stench of blood clogs the air, uncertainty, tension, fear and death rampaging in the silence. Red is what has the ascendancy over the land, the horizon, the sky; the world. Its unlimited resources are what they stand on, broken limbs haphazardly sticking out of the ground and creating a haunted forest of their own.

The price of victory is heavy.

"But you are not a loser either."

The same voice says in the same impassivity and the midnight chain clinks once more as the still rigid wrist is grabbed. A sickening crunch of bones underneath their feet fails to draw any reaction from the deadpan survivors and the blank teenager, too young – far too young – to witness the morbid horror, is force-started to walk away from the blood-drenched hell.

"…I'm not a loser either." He quietly repeats the words to himself, barely audible. Silence is the reply of the smaller but older one, limping but still walking on. The grip on his wrist is unrelenting. His feet shuffle forward on the bed of the dead. The hollow brown eyes flutter shut.

He is not a loser. But a victor is not always a hero, he learns, the doctrine all too belated.

He is but a mere floundering human. And he prays that his insignificant existence is significant enough to at least keep the cogwheels of this world turning, if nothing else.

Because he may be a victor but he is no hero.

_They_ are no heroes.


	29. 047Bell:Guidance

**Title**: Guidance  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#047-Bells)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Summary**: Hitsugaya returns with a present from Soul Society for Ichigo after hearing the news of his injury.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: None

-x-

**Author's Note**:

…I think I've fallen in slump. I just can't really seem to write anything nowadays. This was written a LONG time ago.

* * *

**:::::Guidance by Kanon:::::**

**

* * *

  
**

The Karakura town was caught in the turmoil that was a transition of the season and the notorious heat of the summer was subtly but surely creeping in by every minute of the night, the humidity in the air rising. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he dashed through the silent streets and the perpetual scowl grew tighter. Though water was an element he thrived in, it was an absolute killer for him when it was coupled with the scorching temperature. However, it was not just the profuse perspiration that was pulling the white brow together.

As soon as he turned the last corner and caught his destination in sight, he jumped on the walls aligning the gardens, the footsteps completely soundless. The speed only grew faster, if that was possible, making him look like nothing more than a blur of white and when the green sign reading Kurosaki Clinic zoomed past him, he was up in the air, heading for the opened window on the first floor.

Then the moment his foot landed on the window frame, he froze and blinked.

Hitsugaya remained motionless at what was now effectively his 'door' to this room, his other foot still dangling in midair. It was a precarious position yet he could not help it. Although he had been forewarned, to see it real for himself was nothing like what he had imagined from the descriptions that the others had relayed to him while he was in Soul Society.

Just then, a waft of precious cool breeze darted past him and rushed into the room and the silent change in the atmosphere jerked the sole occupant towards him, giving him a full view of what had rendered him speechless.

"Who is it?!"

It was a short, simple question but in the three words, Hitsugaya could hear the tension and anxiety tittering on the edge of turning to panic-fraught hostility, something rarely heard from the frowning substitute shinigami. The untamed reaitsu flared dangerously in the room, threatening to break the special shield set around the area, and the wild grating kick-started the stunned captain back into action as he landed deftly on the bed. The mattress sagged, and the black reiatsu spiked precariously before it quickly calmed down from the high alert; a reiatsu so cold and so familiar was seeping in, caressing the alarmed one with surprising gentleness. It brought a wry smile on the teen's face as the anxiety made its leave and HItsugaya glowered at the sight in discontentment.

"Welcome back, Toushiro."

"…Idiot." The captain tonelessly muttered, the voice barely audible in the quietness of the moonlit room, and a resigned chuckle followed it.

"I knew you'd say that." Ichigo sighed then tousled his hair, relaxing back against the wall now that he knew who the late-night intruder was. "Though, this time, I have to agree with you."

There was no reply from the obviously irritated prodigy and Ichigo honestly could not say he found it surprising. Those piercing emeralds were most likely scrutinising him at the moment. Perfectly aware that the distasteful frown would be spoiling his dragon's face, Ichigo put on a sheepish smile instead of trying to string pretentious words which would only aggravate the situation even more.

Suddenly, cold fingertips came out of nowhere – from his point of view – and landed on his marred eyelids, and Ichigo could not stop the surprised gasp escaping him. The feather light touch also startled at the jump, leaving him briefly, but it soon returned once again, this time much more cautiously and slowly. The gentle caress first ghosted over them as if afraid that he might shatter irrevocably then turned firmer when there was no sign of discomfort from the teen; instead, astonishment filled the face and though the brown eyes were hidden behind the clamped shut lids, the captain could clearly see them widening to the size of full moon in his mind.

Regardless of the quiet gasp from the idiot, Hitsugaya glided his fingers over the other's eyes light as feather. Clear glue-like substances were spread over them like a web, gluing the eyelids and robbing the substitute shinigami of his sight. The strange material had hardened like plastic and the fingers continued following one of many tail ends that fastened onto the warm skin, the teal orbs filled with vexation but not without concern.

"What happened?" Hitsugaya half-snarled, not wholly managing to hide the frustration he felt. Ichigo scoffed derisively, more at himself than anything, even as he relished in the rare caring strokes of the dainty hand.

"I let my guard down after slashing an Arrancar. Didn't expect it to explode, never mind splatter this gunk."

The airy hovering of the soft touches halted then just as Ichigo started to wonder what was going on-

"Ouch! Hey!"

The contentment disappeared fast as Ichigo screwed up his face in pain, his hands reflexively shooting up to rub the sore spot on his head where the small hand had come back with a vicious bonk.

"I go back just for a day and this is what greets me on my return?"

The baritone voice was flat, almost placid, as if the whole situation actually did not bother the aloof prodigy. It made the entire sentence seem very incongruous, given that the words, however harsh they were, were of concern; but Ichigo knew the lack of the usual annoyance was in fact the first sign that he should run for it if he wanted to avoid the wrath of the legendary creature. He needed to salvage the situation, and fast.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a rueful smile and slowly reached out for the small hand he hoped was still near him. However, all that he could grasp was empty air and after a few attempts all ending in failure, the aggravation was beginning to show in the frown creasing the unhappy face.

"Stupid prick," Ichigo heard his ruffled dragon muttering in sheer annoyance not long after then the blind searching came to an end, the dainty hand he had been looking for fitting into the empty space of his loosely curled fingers and he clutched it as if it were his lifeline without a moment wasted. A soft sigh akin to relief escaped the injured – in a manner of speaking, since apart from the sealed eyes, Ichigo was as good as new – and the captain did not protest when his hand was dragged across and pressed against the cheek; putting aside the unimpressed tsk he let out, that is.

"I wish I could see you," Ichigo murmured, pressing a chaste kiss on the velvety palm. The wishful statement roused a new wave of worries in the prodigy and though the teen could not see, the white brows were now newly angled from the vexation, a hint of concern weaving into the stoic voice as Hitsugaya confirmed what he had heard from Urahara.

"I thought it was temporary."

"Apparently." Then Ichigo looked up to where he assumed Toushiro was sitting, hoping that he was right and was not making a fool of himself. "But I meant I want to see you _now_."

The relief in the cold emeralds was only short-lived, quickly giving way to ire that the fool had nearly tricked him; not that it was intentional but that did not make any difference.

"Impatient prat, it's not like I've been away for weeks and months," Hitsugaya replied coolly but unknown to Ichigo, the small face did not make any effort to hide the concern and the willingness to help. After all, there was no one here to see the stark display of affection from the glacial prodigy; not even his lover.

Silence descended on them once more, the two sitting there and Ichigo relishing in the tiny, innocent contact. With the lack of sight, all his other senses were heightened unnaturally despite the short span of time he had been thrown abruptly into the darkness. Urahara had played it down to his battle trainings that had honed them through the countless brushes against death. Frankly, he did not care about hows and whys; he knew the situation could have been a lot worse had it not been the time he had spent as the substitute shinigami and for that, he was grateful. However, it was still vey surreal; he could literally feel on his skin the cold shimmers of the thin slice of silver in the midnight sky showering over them through the open window. The direction of the slightest of breeze was unmistakable from the way his short mess of orange rustled and the warmth gently cupping his cheek was smoother than ever. Yet frustration began to build up within him; it did not matter if he had Toushiro's hand planted firmly on his face. He still had no way of telling just where his dragon currently sat or what kind of expression the aloof but caring shinigami was wearing and he wanted to embrace the cool frame within his arms.

Hitsugaya sat in silence, watching the shift in the emotions on the teen's face. Without the ability to see, it seemed Ichigo was unaware of how starkly they were being displayed and knowing the one-way minded idiot, he did not have to ask why the long face. A quiet sigh left the thinned lips and using his free hand, the captain searched the inside of his sleeves. And out of the blue, the dark serenity was shattered with a crisp jingle of-

"…A bell?" Ichigo asked in confusion, fairly positive of his auditory deduction. The same clean sound rang once more, confirming his suspicion, and then a few more, quieter ringing continued to ripple the lukewarm air. The toll did not stop until the blinded teen figured out the direction and turned towards it; to his right side, and Ichigo hazarded a guess that it was somewhere just within his arm's reach as well, which figured, considering that only one person could be tinkering the little metal ball whose other hand remained on his face.

"Toushiro?"

The orange eyebrows knitted when another toll of the bell was the only response he received to his perplexed call. It was only a second before the sound that supposedly purified the souls came again and this time, Ichigo cautiously reached out for the origin, guided by the intermittent jingling. The entire journey felt like hours but in the end, his fingertips met the cold, round surface of what was undoubtedly a small bell, perhaps with a golden shine.

But it was not the success that had the teen's mouth shaping into a little surprised 'o'; it was the unmistakable warmth emanating from somewhere very nearby, more specifically, just a layer of cotton away from where the bell rested.

"Toushiro?" Ichigo enquired once more, the puzzlement evident in the single word.

"Good," came the monotonous reply. It was as if he had just got a maths question right instead of grasping the tiny thing without his sight. "It took awhile but you're better at this than I had expected."

"But… a bell? What's it for?"

"What do you think? It's for you to follow."

The lids lifted as if to open but all it managed was mere lifting of the orange eyebrows. Hitsugaya managed to stop another irritated clack of his tongue; the sight was becoming truly vexing, only adding fuel to his already brimming annoyance.

"Did you think that we were going to leave you defenceless in your current condition? It's not as if you'd stay in your room until you've recovered."

"You've got that right," Ichigo muttered resolutely then a teasing smirk slowly curled the lips. "Toushiro, did you volunteer for this? Because I doubt this exactly warrants a captain-class to be taken away from his initial duty."

For the first time, Hitsugaya was glad that the idiot could not see, feeling his blood rushing to his face at a record-breaking speed.

"Shut up."

The lopsided grin on Ichigo's face stretched wider but on the contrary, the emeralds narrowed once more; that stupid arrogance was simply not the same without the unrelenting fire lightening up the warm brown eyes.

The merry jingle echoed again and Ichigo dropped the unbalance in his smirk, instead wearing a simple, soft smile. No matter how detached Toushiro appeared, at times like this, it could not become any clearer that in that notorious fortress of ice lived on a compassionate fire. The little metal merriness that would be his guide until his recovery jingled once more lightly as he gave a tiny flick with his fingertips, making sure he would not lose it. The hand that had been his sole contact with his prickly boyfriend left his warmed cheek and wrapped around his fingers as if to stop the pointless ringing but it did not diminish the smile on the teen's face at all.

"Thanks, Toushiro."

Ichigo only heard the quiet harrumph that he probably would have missed if his vision had not been impaired, and chuckled.

"What on earth would I do without you?"

"Probably get killed in the stupidest way ever possible."

The words were unsympathetic but neither took them seriously and both of them knew it was only a cover-up for the concern the icy shinigami did not know how to show. Instead, Ichigo snuck his hand out of the light grasp and held the dainty one in his instead, hesitantly and carefully closing the distance between them as he tried to remember where the ringing had come from. For all he knew, he could be heading for a wall instead of the plump lips and the possibility of it rose the tension inside him to the limit with every inch he moved forward.

Then the hand he had captured within his wiggled and jerked to right, making him halt for a minute in confusion. There was still no verbal explanation from the captain who was evidently feeling even more reticent than usual – most likely from the annoyance and worries – and then another press to the right came, as if to direct-

A wide grin stretched out on Ichigo's face as he realised what the little twists were for and obliged the silent instruction. Only if he could see Toushiro's face right now; he had no doubt that those velvety cheeks were burning in bright, bright red as the prickly prodigy guided him to his destination. The aloof shinigami had not yet learnt to overcome his embarrassment and awkwardness to initiate an intimate contact himself even in the current circumstances but Ichigo understood the meaning of these wordless navigations.

A content sigh dissipating into the tranquillity of the night marked the end of the heated kiss and Ichigo could not stop grinning like an idiot as he licked his wet lips, the refreshing taste of snow lingering elusively at the tip of his tongue. The sultry act had the porcelain cheeks staining in crimson once more and Hitsugaya swatted the callused hand away rather roughly, causing the bell to dance in the air. The cleansing sound rang out vibrantly, the echoes only widening the smile on the teen's face if anything, and then Ichigo suddenly tilted his head to a side. Hitsugaya could practically see the question mark flashing neon above the orange tuft and though his scowl was dark enough to probably silence the invincible Matsumoto Rangiku, he patiently waited for the query.

"Toushiro."

"What?"

"Where did you get the bell from?"

A moment of silence then-

"Why?"

"It's just… you came from Soul Society… and the size is awfully similar to the ones someone I don't particularly want to meet again wears." Then Ichigo added, as if there was a need to make it any clearer. "At the tips of his hair. "

Another slice of quietness; for Ichigo, it was growing quite disturbing by now.

"…It _could_ be from someone that you don't particularly want to meet again."

Ichigo blanched and decided not to enquire any further into the matter for the sake of his sanity.


	30. 003Repent:Snow upon cedars

**Title**: Snows falling upon cedars  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (#003-Repent)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Very light romance, wouldn't really go as far as to call it angst but it's no humour  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round. Title from 31_days.  
**Summary**: Set in post-war. In the silent clearing where cedars made of stone form a forest of their own, Hitsugaya stands alone. Ichigo is none too pleased but it was him who was wrong.  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Warning**: I found out while writing this, that my muses had been massacred. (That, in more direct term, means that this is pretty shit.)

**Author's Note**:

...Damnit, it sucks... *pulls face* I've slipped out of writing completely for the past months and am doing my best to get back. This was written just as I was having fall out with my muses. *cringes*

Despite the shittiness I bring, I have a favour to ask to all! I've written a draft for an AU IchiHitsu fic which has been posted in LJ. It won't be posted in until I decide whether to continue or not, depending on the initial reactions, so I'd like to hear your opinion. It's at http:// community. / winters18/31563. html – delete the gaps!

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**:::::****Snows falling upon cedars by Kano****n::::: **

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The teal eyes scan the boundless clearing in front of them, stretching beyond the horizon and beyond. It is a new landmark in Soul Society, one that that is known to every soul yet rarely receives any visitors; the silence cloaking the place is too cumbersome for most, especially for those that relate to it at a more personal level. With time, this grand field would see more coming, but at the moment, the wounds are still bleeding raw for all.

The sky over his head is murky grey and the clouds mingle with no distinguishable outlines. It is merely an expansion of bleak shade at best and from the seemingly blank emptiness falls the precipitated tears that will not be shed by the sole presence who silently sets his foot down, one front of the other, leaving lonely prints behind. The steps are small, nothing more than a few inches apart, but slow as they may be, they are purposeful and resolved. The pair of warashis do not offer much, if any, protection against the steadily thickening layer of snow and the cotton tabis instantly become soaked, the record-chill that has hit the Soul Society clutching the unwavering feet cruelly.

The lack of sound – not simple silence, but the sheer _absence_ of any noise – whirls around the lone figure, incarcerating and luring him into its glacial sorrow. There is not even a wind today to carry away the weight resting heavily on his heart – not crushing or overwhelming as to choke him but nonetheless profound – but the pain does not have its place on the stoic mask fixed upon the frozen face. Wrapped in the grieving sadness that hangs thick in the clearing, he walks on, the lips tightly sealed and the emerald eyes wide open. At every few steps comes a brief pause and in front of the slightly deeper footprints are always the same tall and narrow grey stones, standing proud and indifferent to the arctic temperature; each and all bears the insignia that matches the one resting beneath the slanted navy blue sheath on the only visitor's back, next to it, an intricately carved lily. The number is myriad and they form a forest of their own that would never wither no matter how intense the snowfall becomes; like cedars, like those who lie beneath them, because these souls may now rest under the browned grasses that await the warm call of spring, but they had all bravely fought for the gruesome victory the Gotei 13 grasped in the end and every one of them shall live on in the hearts of the survivors who remember them. The true death for a shinigami, and perhaps even for the humans in the real world as well, is when one's existence is rid of from the world in every sense of the word.

One after another, the captain stops in front of each that had belonged– no, they still do and will always be his proud subordinates – to his division and carefully trails the black writings with his eyes. It is a simplest of an act of condolence – or was it perhaps of guilt or perhaps… – yet the short frame of the few seconds brim with unspoken sincerity; even the air seems to grow ritualistic and it is tinted with something that separates the vast clearing from the rest of the world, not without a threatening warning that it is not to be broken.

A sudden gust of wind mingles into the softly falling flakes and the temporary blizzard twirls around the still shinigami before whisked away by the irreconcilable hush that will not be letting go of its sovereignty over this frigid land anytime soon. The pure flakes slowly but surely gather atop the white spikes and the distinction becomes impossible. The damp haori hangs still on the narrow shoulders in the stagnant, frigid air, then once again, flutters somewhat stiffly as the wearer moves to the next as if he is none the wiser of the snowstorm brewing over the horizon, creeping nearer inch by inch every minute. And just as the indecipherable emeralds narrow at the name of his division's late officer engraved on the sleek marble stone-

"Toushiro."

The call is subdued and the rarity of the volume from that particular voice has Hitsugaya shifting his unreadable gaze to the new visitor to this desolate clearing in faint surprise. There is no mistaking who the voice belongs to; just out of his arm's reach stands the frowning substitute shinigami, the adolescent war hero, whose messy orange tuft is visibly wet from the melted snow. The teal eyes are rooted on the damp locks before sliding down to catch the eyebrows furrowed at an angle that Hitsugaya knows to be different from the usual scowl the teen wears. With one last flitting glance at the undoubtedly freezing stone next to him, the captain turns fully to face the taller one, but shows no sign of the anticipated annoyance or frustration.

"Kurosaki."

The scrutinising hazels are most certainly not pleased with the situation and Ichigo draws a semi-circle with his hand as to indicate the endless rows of what now look like odd stumps in the deepening heap of snow threatening to swallow them. Hitsugaya's cryptic gaze remains locked on the brown as if he cannot see the wide waving, forcing the snowflakes out of their languid falling into a violent swirl, and for a moment, the substitute shinigami is not so certain what the impassivity means. Nevertheless, he has never been known much for reticence; or patience, for that matter.

"This," Ichigo says, his tone a mixture of concern, frustration and plead, "is not your fault."

In the absolute silence reigning over the immaculate graveyard, the quiet words seem louder than explosives and only when the last echo dies away, only then, do the emeralds trail the mid-air path that the now clenched hand has just drawn.

There are no words from the captain and in the returned absence of sound, Ichigo waits, the burning gaze fixed upon the snow-coated spikes. Then he frowns; contrary to the anxiety humming high in every cell of his, the other seems oddly detached, the aloofness carrying nothing out of ordinary. And just as he begins to wonder if he has missed something, the cool teal eyes return to him.

"While I will not say it is not my fault," the prodigy speaks levelly and continues before the teen has a chance to interrupt unhappily at the opening statement, "I do not think of it as a result solely of my fault either."

Ichigo tilts his head, this time, confusion creasing the frozen face. His sight of Toushiro blurs and clears as the chilly temperature turns his breaths into puffs of mist but the piercing gleam of the turquoise orbs penetrates the feeble haze and the worsening snowfall.

"What?"

The perplexity is not unexpected and Hitsugaya turns back to the gravestone next to him; the man that now lies beneath here has already been replaced by another capable subordinate of his. Even after the sheer loss that has hit every shinigami one way or the other, Gotei 13 needs to move on and continue with its sacred duty of protection. And they are of fighters; every day, every minute, they dance with the death and breathe the same air as the death.

After a moment of silence, the captain throws a question that Ichigo did not see coming.

"Kurosaki, was Matsumoto worried that I was out here?"

The tone of the question suggests something rhetorical and the teen suddenly feels like a 5 years old kid about to be proven very wrong; nonetheless, he answers anyway because now that he thinks about it, it was strange.

"...No."

The small hand reaches out for the top of the slab and gently, with respect, brushes away the heap of snow that has built up there. The soft flakes plummet to the ground without a single sound, swept off in a tiny avalanche, and resting the moist hand atop the cleared stone, Hitsugaya continues, his resolute gaze stock-still on the shimmering pillar.

"We shinigamis are on battlefield every day, Kurosaki, and it was a war. Sacrifices, losses, casualties; they are something we strive to limit but not to reach the ultimate zero because then, we would simply not be doing our jobs."

A slightly concerned scowl adorns the teen's face; the prospect of the words does not bode well with him and there is something of discomfort rising inside him at the deadpan expression on Toushiro's face.

"That... sounds pretty bad, Toushiro. It almost sounds like you would not try to stop people from…" A brief pause, then the words are more spat out than spoken. "…well, from dying."

A soft sigh leaves the pale lips and the lean fingers curl into a loose fist. The fingertips rake across the thin layer that has managed to form already within the span of a mere few seconds, leaving behind five clear lines in the white, flaky coating.

"Kurosaki, do you go into a battle, thinking that you will come back losing one of you?"

"Of course not!" comes the incredulous retort hotly and the emeralds lift up to watch the thick snowfall swamping the otherwise void yard they occupy.

"Then if you did lose one, will you remain stuck in the time and never move forward?"

For the substitute shinigami, the question hits far too close to home and the orange-topped head hangs low.

"…I… guess I shouldn't."

"If you move forward, will you never look back?"

Ichigo, furrowing his eyebrows, is about to ask whether 'moving forward' is not the same as 'not looking back' then suddenly, comprehension lights the widened hazels and though Hitsugaya bears no witness to it, he knows he no longer needs to elaborate.

Less than a metre away, not too far but not too close to the unmoving prodigy, Ichigo realises that he has indeed been wrong. It is not out of drowning sorrow and guilt that Toushiro has come to this silent resting place; the losses, while not welcomed, have been accepted as an inevitable history, contrary to what he had initially assumed.

Instead, it is the resolution that has led the young captain to this soundless gathering of his men; to pay the rightful condolences, to offer the proper parting words, to vow on their lives that he will not forget those that had departed under his command, to consecrate that no more than what even the best of his ability cannot prevent will not be lost, but not to agonise and spill tears over their deaths because that would be insulting the spirits of the warriors.

Hitsugaya Toushiro has never forgot the bygone but never failed to look forward; within the cold gleams of the emeralds co-lives the memories of the past and the promises of the future and through the captain, the division truly comes together as one.

Blinking himself out of the stun, Ichigo finds the frozen teal eyes watching him almost indifferently yet within the indecipherable gaze, he sees the credence – not resignation – and determination. Gradually, the wet face, stiffened in the frigid air, morphs into a lopsided grin and at last, Ichigo closes the distance and grasps the pale hand, gently lifting it off from the chilled stone.

"It's not possible to tend to all of them today anyway. Let's go back for now before the blizzard gets any worse and tomorrow, we'll come back." And with a squeeze on the small, hand, he adds, "Together."

The stoic gaze flicks to the gravestone that is quickly loosing the void print of his hand in the thickening white layer. He can no longer tell the colour of the sky, the snowfall too heavy. The large hand gently tugging at him is not much warmer than his and the frosty wind is picking up in its ferocity.

After a moment, Ichigo sees the captain nodding curtly to the stone and he mimics it, knowing what the simple motion means; _thank you for your service, now rest in peace_.

"Let's go," Toushiro says, taking off first, and with a smile, Ichigo quickly follows, bringing up the dainty hand with both of his and blowing warm air over it. The fingers twitch but the captain does not pull away; without a word, he walks on, and so does Ichigo, in the snow falling on cedars of green and of grey.


	31. Multiple prompts:Query:Narcolepsy?

**Title**: Query: Narcolepsy?  
**Series**: 50scenes Prompt Table No.2 (025-Imprint, 023-Grin, 005-Power, 017-Relax, 008-Smile // separated by - , excludes omake)  
**Author**: Kanon  
**Genre**: Romance  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing**: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro  
**Disclaimer**: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.  
**Summary**: By then, he had been watching the prodigy closely for some days and was only a step shy of concluding that Toushiro was in fact narcoleptic.  
**Spoilers**: None, I think  
**Warning**: …OOCness from Hitsugaya? Un-beta'd draft.

-x-

**Author's Note**:

I'm having a fic-dump day (got more of other fandoms XD). A bit of shenanigan with this. I had written 3 fics for other fandoms in a day so roguemysticLJ pestered me for IchiHitsu. No, I'm joking, she didn't pester me; she threatened me. XDD

* * *

**:::::Query: Narcolepsy? by Kanon:::::**

* * *

The first time Ichigo noticed it was also when he could not have possibly missed it.

It had been an ordinary day at his school, or at least as ordinary as it could be with a bunch of ill-fitting shinigamis yet to adjust to the 21st century real world. Such, uh, strong characters cooped up in one small classroom was a perfect recipe for bedlam and that day, the longest that silence had dwelt in his classroom was exactly 17 minutes. Of course, that was not what his classmates or the teachers remembered; by lunchtime, Hitsugaya had used all his reserves of memory pills. By the time the seething captain took out his last stash, even Ichigo had started to feel sorry for him.

Now, with half a day still to go, the shinigamis had had an earful from the thoroughly aggravated prodigy and then got sent away on an errand to the Urahara shoten. His guess, they were going to have to get a whole box of it just to last a week. Then just as the usual group was about to head for the customary spot for lunch, Ishida and Inoue were called by the teacher and Chad had decided to go with Keigo to help with the heap of bread he was going to have to carry. That had left Ichigo with Hitsugaya who, if looks could kill, would have decimated anything his eyes landed on beyond recognition. Not wanting to push his luck, Ichigo had opted for staying silent, taking his place in the cool shadow, and the captain flopped down next to him so that he could stay out of the Sun. The instinctive avoidance of the heat was something Ichigo had grown used to so he simply leaned against the wall behind him, keeping his eyes on the calm blue sky. It was awkward, yes, but Toushiro looked ready to kill quite literally and Ichigo wasn't about to step on landmine voluntarily.

And so, like that, sitting side by side, in the little triangle of the shadow, time passed in silence; until a few minutes later, in other words, now.

Swallowing nervously, Ichigo lowered his eyes to his shoulder keeping his body as still as a statue. When he confirmed what he had suspected, a confused panic spread out in him, his stunned brain chanting '_what the hell, what the hell, what the hell_,' because resting limp on the round edge of his shoulder was the white spikes that could not be mistaken for anything else. And if his eyes were not deceiving him, the closed eyes, the slightly parted lips, and the quiet breathing ghosting over his arm; Toushiro who had been fuming as if to spit fireballs just a minute ago was _asleep_.

A flurry of questions assaulted his alarmed mind like arrays of Ishida's arrows and unable to answer any of them, Ichigo had no choice but to simply sit there and not even breathe. He did not know why he was worried so much about waking the brat up but the slumbering face held a certain power over him like magic and his body obliged to it without a thought.

In the distance, from below, the sound of the boys playing football echoed faintly, and with the shouts and roars, Ichigo could hear the beating of his blood ringing in his ear. Afraid to strain his already short-circuited brain, Ichigo decided not to think about why his heart was trying to burst out of his chest and instead, focused on the only thing he could do without moving, which was observing Toushiro's sleeping face. How on earth the shinigami fell asleep in a place like this, at a time like this, and in a situation like this, he didn't have a clue, but if he had learnt anything about the young captain in the past few days, it was that this was the rarest of the rarity. The tight knit in the brows was not completely smoothed out, the forehead a little creased in between, and the thick eyelashes fluttered once in a while. The lips were now shut in a thin line, the irritation that had filled Toushiro a moment ago still visible. Now that he saw, Toushiro was slumped onto his shoulder rather uncomfortably but Ichigo did not dare adjust the position. Then just as he slowly took a breath in-

"Taichou," a jovial voice rang out suddenly as the door swung wide open, and Ichigo jolted in surprise at the abrupt shatter of the silence that had separated the two of them from the rest of the world.

"Taichou," the strawberry blonde popped around and Ichigo nearly choked on nothing when he heard the low voice grumbling, "Did you get them?"

Ichigo could not believe his ears; or eyes for that matter. Toushiro was back to himself in a flash that he had somehow missed, the emerald eyes sharp and cool. As the rest of the shinigamis came in, the usual ruckus started to replace the silence and Keigo's return with the breads and the others was the signal of their lunch break to finally begin.

"Ichigo, your curry bread!"

"Huh?" Ichigo dumbly asked though he managed to catch the bread flying towards him anyway thanks to the well-trained reflex. Keigo looked at him in puzzlement but instantly forgot about the odd reaction when Ikkaku demanded for his food.

Opening the plastic wrapping, Ichigo frowned, wondering if what had transpired just now had really happened or if it had been in fact himself that had fallen asleep and had a dream. Not that the latter made any more sense because in that case, why the hell would he dream about the currently screaming captain (at Matsumoto, of course, who else) falling asleep on his shoulder?

Then just as he was about to take his first bite of the bread, Ichigo caught the captain's eyes and was treated to another extraordinary view of the porcelain cheeks turning bright red before the shinigami quickly turned away. His mouth open like a goldfish and the bread hovering in midair, Ichigo blinked stupidly as he processed the atypical reaction, which could have meant only one thing; he had not imagined or dreamt it.

Hitsugaya Toushiro really had fallen asleep in a blink of an eye, moreover, on his shoulder.

-

Next time it happened, Ichigo was more prepared; a whole lot more. By then, he had been watching the prodigy closely for some days and was only a step shy of concluding that Toushiro was in fact narcoleptic. The captain seemed to nod off in just about any place and any time of the day if left alone or with just Matsumoto, and in a matter of a few seconds as well. The only reason Ichigo had not dragged him to hospital yet was because Toushiro would wake up faster than he could blink at any signs of an intruder and if Ichigo hadn't known better, he would have thought that the workaholic shinigami was just taking a breather; well, and that there wouldn't be much the hospitals in the real world could do for a narcoleptic shinigami.

The group had gathered in his room that day after the school, having self-invited themselves for dinner at his place. Thankfully, Yuzu had called them down before his room resembled a bomb site and after dinner, most of the group decided that Isshin was far better entertainment than the grumpy substitute shinigami. Needless to say that Ichigo was perfectly happy with the arrangement and had even kicked Kon out of his room for some peace and quiet when a knock too modest to be any of the rowdy shinigamis (if they would ever do so) came.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," came the growling voice and Ichigo opened the door with a chuckle, having more or less expected this turn of events.

"My Pops too much to bear, Toushiro?"

"No, my own team is," the scowling prodigy hissed and walked past him, taking a seat on his bed. Ichigo could hear the hysteric laughter of Matsumoto and his father's booming voice easily overpowering it and pulled a face before shutting the deafening noise out.

"Well, feel free to stay here."

"Thanks," Hitsugaya muttered and Ichigo decided to return to his homework instead of trying to engage the silent shinigami in a conversation. After all, the captain had come to take a shelter from all the stress of, what to call it, socialising, and it seemed Toushiro was also content with the lack of it in his room because he merely tilted his head back and crossed his arms, his lips sealed. However, for Ichigo, it wasn't all innocent consideration that he had opted for mind-my-own-business tactic; he also had something he wanted to check.

After solving one maths question, Ichigo took a glance over his shoulder and an amused smile surfaced on his face. As he had expected, Toushiro had fallen asleep, his head hanging low. The chin was almost touching the slowly rising and falling chest and Ichigo turned around completely from his desk, resting his chin in his hand in an awkward angle.

What surprised him the most was the fact that the aloof shinigami actually let himself drop his guard like that in his presence. Sure, Ichigo wasn't going to attack him in his sleep but from what he had gathered so far, Toushiro never even showed a single sign of drowsiness while others were around, never mind giving in to it like this. The only exception to the rule seemed to be the merry vice-captain though it was hard to tell since the two were almost always in their usual run-and-chase where peace was hard to find in.

The snow-topped head drooped a little more and Ichigo trampled down his disappointment as he decided to wake the boy up before Toushiro ended up with backlash from all the bending.

"Tou-"

"Onii-chan!"

Ichigo sighed in resignation as the teal eyes flew open the moment the door opened and offered a rueful smile at the surprise on Toushiro's face before turning to his sister.

"Yuzu?"

"Onii-chan, it's bad! One of your friends gave dad a bokuto and challenging him to a fight!"

Ichigo facepalmed at the same time as the captain muttered a curse under his breath. The memory pill case was already in Hitsugaya's hand, an automatic reaction from the previous millions of times he had used them in that single day, but Ichigo placed his hand over it to stop the deployment.

"Kurosaki?"

"Leave it to me, there's no need for the stuff."

"But-"

"This kind of thing happens every day at our place. I'll get it under control so you go back to sleep," chuckled Ichigo and left the room, leaving behind a spluttering and very red prodigy. While walking down the staircase, Ichigo had to fight the uncontrollable desire to laugh his head off, remembering the uncharacteristically flabbergasted look on the continuously frowning face.

This was an almost perfect blackmailing material; '_almost'_ being the keyword here, because at the back of his mind, he could not quite deny that the peacefully slumbering face of Toushiro had stirred something in him.

-

"Rangiku-san."

"Hmm?"

"Is Toushiro narcoleptic?

Matsumoto stared at the teen with round eyes at what must be the oddest question she had heard in her entire life; Hitsugaya Toushiro, narcoleptic?

"What on earth gave you that idea?"

"It's just I've noticed him dropping dead-" then Ichigo winced at the choice of the words and changed them, "-falling asleep in a second like that," he said, emphasising his point by clicking his fingers, "like a battery gone flat. Then the next second, he's up like it never happened."

Matsumoto did not say anything for a while, carefully examining Ichigo. When he returned the peering gaze with genuine curiosity, Matsumoto put away the red bean stuffed bread (topped with mayonnaise, jelly and fish cake) she had been about to devour.

"He fell asleep when you were around?"

"Well, yeah. And I've seen him doing it when he was alone. He obviously didn't know I was watching him."

"You were watching him?"

The surprised question ignited fire on the teen's face and Ichigo wildly waved his hands.

"Just for a while! I nearly jumped out of my skin when he collapsed on my shoulder so I wanted to know what was going on."

The silver eyes widened to a size of full-moon and Ichigo nearly took a step back when Matsumoto learned forward in a hurry, her breasts swaying dangerously in the low V-neck.

"He leaned on you and didn't wake up?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

By now, Ichigo was starting to feel as if he had just revealed the ultimate secret behind the entire world with all the ogling from the vice-captain but the bewilderment soon turned into uneasiness as the notorious smirk curled the plump lips.

"Wh- what?"

"Ichigo, you sly playboy!"

Ichigo's jaw dropped low, blood rushing to his already heated face.

"Uh- I didn't- what- why-"

Matsumoto broke out in a guffaw as Ichigo tried to articulate more than one word and slapped the spluttering teen's back.

"I'm kidding. But to think that you had that kind of ability, I'm astounded, to be honest."

"What are you talking about?"

The trace of the amusement still present in the face-splitting grin, Matsumoto patted the ground indicating that Ichigo should sit down. She only beamed at him when the teen looked askance at her and Ichigo finally took a seat opposite of her, and a good arm's distance away too.

"I'm not going to eat you alive."

"Better safe than sorry."

Matsumoto rolled her eyes at the unfading wariness and fiddled with the bread as she started to explain, though she did not eat it.

"As you know, Taichou's a bit of workaholic," Matsumoto chuckled when Ichigo snorted as he pulled a face, "so he rarely gets near enough sleep. I don't even want to think about when it was that he last saw a futon."

"Jeez, that brat needs a life."

"That's what I tell him. Anyway, but he's no superhuman so it catches up. Those little 'accidental'," Matsumoto wiggled two fingers of each hand to make quotation mark, "naps are pretty much all he gets. But then taichou being taichou, he doesn't let himself doze off just anywhere. Hinamori-chan was the only one that he allowed-" then Matsumoto paused for a moment, re-iterating what she wanted to say, "-that made him feel safe to lower his guard like that. It was years, probably over a decade, before he first gave into the fatigue in front of me. Even then, it's only occasional. That's why I was surprised to hear that it happened while you were around."

"Sure it wasn't just because he was extremely tired?" Ichigo asked sceptically, only for Matsumoto raise an eyebrow at him. "Right, right. Hitsugaya Toushiro, right?" Ichigo muttered as if the name was an explanation to all, which was, in fact, true. "But then why would he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Nodding off even though I'm around."

The vice-captain stared at him for a short time in silence before finally taking a bite off her long-awaited bread.

"You must have it, and really strong one too."

"Have what?"

"You know," Matsumoto mumbled around her mouthful, waving her free hand vaguely, "the air. Something that makes him feel safe. Something that puts him to sleep."

Watching Matsumoto taking another chunk of the bread, Ichigo wondered at the back of his mind, if he had not just complicated the mystery even more.

-

The next time Ichigo caught Toushiro pinching the bridge of his nose, surrounded by bickering Renji and Rukia, self-praising Yumichika, and Rangiku patting the bald head of Ikkaku who was about to snap, he took only a second to make the decision. He strode into the hectic room in big strides, weaving through the messy clumps of chaos that were his friends, to the window seal the captain was perched on, and grabbed the hand that was now massaging the temples. The turquoise eyes instantly flew open at the sudden grasp and Hitsugaya was pulled off from his favourite seat before he could tell what was going on.

"Oi, Kurosaki!"

Ignoring the baffled call, Ichigo walked straight back out without letting go of the captured shinigami. He saw Matsumoto giggling to herself at the corner of hi eyes but pushed it out of his concern, focusing on not losing the hold he had on the prodigy.

They soon ended up on the rooftop and Ichigo shut the door after pulling Toushiro through.

"Kurosaki, what the hell are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Ichigo flopped down and pulled his cause of concern down as well. The unexpected pull had the captain toppling over and by the time he had realised it, Hitsugaya was sprawled on the substuite shinigami's lap. Heat rising in his cheeks, he tried to get up but Ichigo quickly pressed the spiked head down back.

"They'll be at it for a while. Go to sleep."

Ichigo could imagine how random this all seemed from the prodigy's point of view. After all, Toushiro was not aware of his secret observation or the chat he had with Matsumoto.

"What the," Hitsugaya grumbled in confusion as he tried to sit up but the large hand on him only pressed down even harder, leaving him with no other choice but to stay in the rather awkward position, "what the hell, Kurosaki?"

"Be quiet just for once. I'm telling you to have some shuteyes before those nutjobs drive you crazy."

"What makes you think I'll sleep when you're here, moreover, on your lap?"

"You did before. And it's not much but I'm sure it's more comfortable than the concrete," then Ichigo added after a moment, "or the air."

After a moment of silence, Ichigo heard Hitsugaya grumbling something along the line of 'damn you' and strained to stop his face splitting in half and _shit, he did not just find the brat adorable_.

"Shut up and sleep."

"Piss off, Kurosaki."

-

Later, when even Isshin grew tired of the constant ruckus, Matsumoto followed the trail of her captain's reiatsu which led her to the rooftop. The iron door opened surprisingly smooth without a single creak and when she craned her neck around it, she could not help but chuckle quietly to herself.

On the opposite side against the wall was Ichigo, sound asleep with his legs sprawled out in front of him, and on one of those legs was the pure white tuft she'd recognise anywhere nestled somewhat precariously. Yet, the habitual frown was nowhere to be seen, Hitsugaya's slumbering face peaceful and relaxed. It was actually a rather amusing sight, seeing how neither of them was really in any comfortable position. Matsumoto was fairly positive that both of them would suffer from very stiff neck come tomorrow but she left the two as they were, swallowing the giggle.

"Matsumoto-san?" Rukia peeped from behind her and Matsumoto glanced over her shoulder at the perplexed blue eyes before turning back to the slumbering boys.

"I think we better not disturb them."

"Eh?"

"Good night," Matsumoto whispered quietly so that the other girl could not hear her, and closed the door again, careful not to make any sound.

**Omake**

Next morning.

"Uh, you drooled, Toushiro!!"

"Shut the fuck up!!! I did not bloody drool!"

"Then what's the patch on my jean here? Morning dew?"

"Shut. Up."

"I'm never letting you sleep on me again."

"I didn't ask for it."

"I didn't think you'd drool."

"Die, Kurosaki. I did _not_ drool."

Behind the door.

"…Taichou drooled?? How cute!!"


End file.
